


Obscurum per obscurius

by Umi_no_arawashi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umi_no_arawashi/pseuds/Umi_no_arawashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, post-Hogwarts, Harry and Draco are roughly twenty. Voldemort won the war. Harry has been captured and has been a slave in the Malfoy household, shared by Lucius and Narcissa, for about a year. When Lucius gives Draco permission to spend the night with him, Harry doesn't expect much from his former schoolmate. But Draco makes a very unusual request...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco's expression was inscrutable as he led Harry up to his bedroom on the second floor. He hadn't said much since Lucius, in a generous mood, had declared at dinner that Draco was to have full use of him for the night. That had been unusual. He'd been with Draco before, sure, when Lucius had insisted - Draco had never really seemed that eager, to be honest - but usually he either spent his nights with Lucius or, when he was allowed, in his small attic bedroom.

Draco seemed to be in an appalling mood, which didn't exactly presage a restful night for Harry. He strode angrily through the corridors, fast enough that Harry had to hurry to keep up, and flung his door open.

"Well?" he snarled. "Get in."

Harry entered the room, a little cautiously. Too slowly for Draco, who gave him a hard shove, propelling him to the middle of the room, before slamming his bedroom door. He turned to Harry, his hands clenched hard at his sides. It was usually safer not to ask questions with the Malfoys, but there was clearly something wrong with Draco.

Draco seemed to come to a decision. He lunged towards Harry and grabbed him, his hand buried deep in Harry’s hair, pulling his head back painfully. Harry stifled a pained moan. Although this, actually, was a lot more familiar.

“Right, Potter, tonight you have to exactly what I tell you, right?”

“You know very well I can’t do anything else.”

“No, that’s right. Whereas I… I can do whatever I want to you, can't I?” He shoved Harry hard against a wall. Harry felt his ribs crack painfully. “Anything at all, Potter, do you understand that?"

The unusual, hard metallic gleam in Draco’s eyes was surprising, and not a little worrying. Draco was never like this with Harry. The few time they'd been together, he’d settled for a few tired insults and a quick, rough fuck. This was a new development which probably meant it was bad.

“What exactly do you want, then, Malfoy?” he asked. He never managed to maintain a proper respectful tone with the younger Malfoy, and Draco didn't really insist on it, except in his father's presence. He usually didn't seem to care how Harry spoke to him, as long as he did what he was told.

"Right. Well, first of all, Don’t think for a second that I give a fuck about you, or how important you are to the cause or to Voldemort.” That last word came out as a hate-filled hiss and Harry frowned a little in puzzlement. Draco let go of him and surveyed him again. He hesitated before speaking again. “I… listen, Potter. If you ever tell my father about this, I swear I’ll make you regret it. I’ll kill you. "

“Right. Don't tell your father.” Something in him pushed him to speak further, beyond what was safe. “Why? Are you worried that I’m going to tell him what a miserable fuck you are?”

“Shut up!” Draco hissed, and slapped Harry hard across the face.

Harry snarled back but managed to stop himself just short of hitting back. Draco had a wand on him. And a slap was _nothing_. He'd survived much worse.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to sound contrite. But when he looked up, Draco seemed to have forgotten the insult already. He was staring at the wall, eyes away from Harry. “I want you to – and if you laugh, I’ll kill you – I want you to fuck me tonight.”

Harry didn’t laugh, but he felt his mouth fall open with surprise. “You… you want _me_ to…”

“Yes.”

“But…. That's just… I didn't think you were the type to... why now, exactly?”

“I don’t have to explain my reasons to you, do I? I just… I’m telling you.”

“Oh… I see." That wasn't what he was expecting at all. In fact, it was properly ridiculous. "So you just thought ‘hey, let’s do something nice for Harry and let him top for once?’” 

Draco snorted with surprised laughter. The bastard always did have a sense of humour.

“No, obviously. Just get over here and do it.”

“Do what, exactly? How do you want this?"

Malfoy seemed a little bit unsure of himself there. He sat down on the bed heavily. “I have no idea, Potter, use your imagination. People do this to you all the time, no?”

“What, fuck me? Yeah, but… Hang on. Malfoy, you're the one who wants me to do it, aren't you? So you must know the way you like it?”

“Well…actually, I haven't....” A slight blush was colouring Draco's cheeks. “Never mind. just.. do whatever.”

“Well, yes… but...” _Okay, Malfoy has officially lost it_ , thought Harry. He shrugged and took of the hateful flimsy half-transparent robe Lucius insisted he wore.

Draco started peeling his own clothes off after a slight hesitation, letting them drop to the floor with uncharacteristic messiness. Harry came to sit down next to him.

“You're even stranger than usual, tonight.”

“Oh, come on, Potter, I’m not asking you anything beyond your limited intellectual range, I’m asking you to fuck me.”

“What, just like that?”

“Yes. Fucking hell, Potter, I’m going to strangle you. What do you mean, just like that?”

“Well… you don't even look vaguely turned on. In fact, you look like you're going to be sick. Are you _sure_ you want this?” If possible, he’d like to avoid Draco changing his mind midway and turning on him.

“Yes, for the last fucking time I am sure, so I don’t care _how_ but just fucking do it!”

_Right. So it’s was all up too me, then, is it?_ Harry thought for a moment then pushed Draco back onto the bed gently. He looked at Draco stretched out in front of him, and his hands came down of their own accord to stroke the slender lines of Draco’s body. He’d never paid much attention to Draco’s body before. Somehow he’d always thought Draco was more physically imposing than himself, like Lucius. Actually, from this unusual angle, he looked probably even slimmer than Harry, which was saying something, since Harry had lost at least a stone since he'd been captured. Draco was all long boyish lines tapering into an almost feminine waist, his body much more that of an adolescent than a man's.

Draco’s skin shone white in the candlelight. Malfoys didn't really believe in getting any sun. But it didn't look bad on Draco, just on the right side of unhealthy. Almost pretty. Harry bent down to deposit a few kisses here and there, tasting the skin, half-expecting it to taste like snow.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Potter?” snapped Draco.

Harry looked up from kissing Draco’s nipple. “I’m doing this _my_ way. You said you didn’t care how I did this. Well, I’m not doing this thing without some kind of foreplay. Besides, you need to relax.”

“I am perfectly relaxed.”

“Oh, really?” Harry put two fingers in his mouth, making them slick with saliva, then without warning sat back, parted Draco’s legs and shoved his fingers hard into Draco’s opening.

Draco’s strangled gasp of pain almost made him smile. _Told you_. “You see?” Harry said. “You need to be a lot more relaxed than this for it to work at all. Unless you _really_ like it rough, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Fine, then,” conceded Draco as Harry pulled out his fingers carefully. “So. How?”

“You let me touch you. You let me… well, open you up. You let me get you a little hard and turned on because that helps, as well.”

Draco swallowed. “Ok. Do... Whatever you're supposed to do, then.”

“I’ll try. Open your legs a little?” 

Draco obeyed, and watched as Harry slowly took Draco’s limp member in his mouth, making it harden and rise with his tongue, sucking on the crown with practiced ease. Then he pulled back up, flashed a wicked smile at Draco, and started licking a line down the central vein of Draco’s erection, until he reached his testicles, which he licked teasingly before moving even lower between Draco’s legs.

“Potter? What the hell are you doing _there_?” said Malfoy, sounding slightly shocked.

“Trust me, that’ll help.” Harry smiled to himself then teasingly brushed Draco’s anus with his tongue. Draco let out a yelp.

“What was _that_?”

“I tell you, it’ll help. Now just lie still,” said Harry before licking at Draco’s opening again, gently teasing it, feeling the muscles around his tongue relax enough to let him in. He pushed back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“That’s repulsive, Potter.”

“You didn’t look like you thought it felt repulsive. And it’s the kind of things normal people do in bed – not just shove it in and out like a cretin with no manners.”

“Well, lucky me.” Draco said acerbly. “Now, can we get on with it?”

“Yes, yes…” Harry grabbed the oil from the bed table and smeared a few drops of it on his fingers. “You’re utterly mad, you know that, Malfoy?” he said. “That's one of the strangest thing I've been asked to do, and that's saying quite a lot.” Harry teased at Draco’s opening with an oil slicked finger, pushing slowly past the tight ring of muscle.

“I… I want to, alright?” panted Draco, closing his eyes. “And I don’t see… why I should explain…”

“Sure. You just wanted to try it. Makes perfect sense.” Harry pushed a second finger in, twisting them deep inside.

“Fuck… off, Potter…” said Draco between clenched teeth. “Oh, Merlin, that…”

“It hurts?” Harry started to pull his fingers out, but Draco’s hand shot down, grabbing his wrist, holding him in place. 

“No… go on. Don’t stop… just… go slowly, alright?”

“I’ll go slowly,” Harry replied soothingly, though to be honest he had no idea how he could possibly do this any slower. Draco was clenched tight around his fingers, thighs shivering with tension. “Shh. It’s alright. It’ll stop hurting, you’ll see.” He found Draco’s flagging erection with his free hand, and started softly stroking it with his fingertips. “You’ll be fine.”

Draco sighed and stretched out further on the bed, turning his face to bury it in the pillow. Excruciatingly slowly, Harry felt him relax, a soft pink tinge tainting his skin as he hardened again. Harry could feel himself doing the same at the mere sight of Draco squirming with uneasy pleasure at his ministrations. 

When he felt Draco had relaxed enough, he slowly pulled his fingers out, and looked up to find Draco’s steel-grey eyes staring at him. 

“You’re going to do it, now, aren’t you?” Draco said, probably not half as confidently as he had intended.

“Yes.” Harry poured some more oil out and slicked his erection with it.

“Oh. Alright.” Draco sat up a little, resting on his elbows.

“You want to do it like this? Might be easier from the back, you know.”

“I want you where I can see you, Potter.”

Harry smiled at that. Malfoy’s venomous tone felt a lot more innocuous from his current position. “Then… just raise your hips a little, ok… perhaps… There,” he said, slipping the other pillow under Draco’s hips. “Now. Stay calm, alright?”

Draco nodded voicelessly, his eyes following Harry closely as he positioned himself between Draco’s legs. Harry breathed in deeply then forced his cock inside, as slowly as he could. Draco arched his body back, hissing.

“God, you’re tight,” Harry breathed.

“Fuck….” Draco bit down on the back of his hand. Harry could feel Draco’s heartbeat speeding up dangerously, pulsing against him. 

“You want me to go on, or…?”

“How… many times do... I have to say it, Potter...? Just… get on with it.”

“Hang on.” Harry pulled out of Draco carefully, both hands holding on to Draco’s hips. He could see Draco look up at him questioningly. “I’m not doing this like that. I’ll hurt you.”

“You’re not _that_ big, you know,” Draco sneered. “I can take it. After all, you can take much worse, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m used to it. And I’m not such a _girl_ about it, either.”

The look of pure hatred Draco shot him then was well worth any price he might later pay for that. 

“Just do what I said and get on your hands and knees. Honestly, you’ll like it better...” _And hopefully, if you get off on this, you won't curse me to oblivion when you get to your senses_ , added Harry mentally.

Draco looked like he was about to say something in reply, but then silently turned around, raising himself on his knees. “Like this?” he asked, simply. 

Harry felt his mouth watering. Now _this_ was unexpected. Draco, opened like this, offered, wanton, was beautiful. A surge of need filled him, the first time he'd felt such pure desire in a long time. He moistened his lips. “Yes, like this.” 

He gripped Draco’s hips again, positioning himself carefully. It went easier this time, and as he pushed in, Draco let out a soft shuddering sigh, so full of something like yearning that it made Harry want to pound him hard into the bed. 

Instead, he inched out with meticulous care, then thrust in again, just a tiny little bit harder, watching Draco’s reactions closely. He didn’t seem to be in quite so much pain this time, relaxing under Harry, his hands kneading the pillow under him, his face half-buried in the soft material. 

His eyes tightly shut, face contorted with pain and pleasure, Draco looked like a different person, someone beautiful and vulnerable, utterly unlike his usual sneering abrasive self. Harry concentrated on that, on the look of pure need on Draco’s face as he panted with every thrust, repeating something, indistinct words, on the very verge of Henry’s hearing. Then pure physical pleasure took over, the perfect hot tightness of Draco, of his slender body writhing underneath him, and he came with a gasp, collapsing on top of Draco. 

After he got his breath back, he carefully slid out of Draco’s body. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes, perfect, just perfect. Leave me alone.” Draco’s voice was almost inaudible, muffled into the pillow.

“But... You didn’t…. come, did you?”

“I….” Draco raised himself onto his elbows. “It’s none of your business. Now. Unless you mind, I’d like to clean this up and go to sleep.” 

He took his wand and cast a quick cleaning spell on the both of them and the bed, turned the lights off with a flick, then threw the wand back onto his bed table, and stretched out on his back, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Nox, Potter,” he said in a tense voice.

“Nox”, Harry replied.

Harry wrapped the sheets around him close, slowly inching away from Draco so their skin didn’t touch anymore, and shut his eyes. He tried hard to clear his mind, waiting for sleep to take him. He felt Draco settle down next to him, also rolling to his side of the bed, as far as possible from Harry. Harry guessed he ought to be grateful Draco hadn’t purely and simply kicked him out of bed yet. 

It took him a long time to sleep, though, drifting in and out of uneasy slumber. After a while, he realised that Draco’s breathing had started to sound strangely hitched. He froze, listening carefully, as it turned into what was quite distinctively sniffling. 

“Malfoy?” he whispered.

The sniffling stopped abruptly, and Draco tensed perceptively next to Harry. “What?... Still awake, Potter?” he said, in a weak approximation of his usual hissing tone.

“Are you _crying_?”

“What? No.”

“You sound like you were.”

“I was _not_ , Potter, so leave me alone and go to sleep.”

“Oh, really?” Harry rolled over quickly and felt for Draco’s face. Draco batted his hand away, but not fast enough. “You _so_ were, Malfoy, I can feel it.”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

“So… What’s wrong with the poor pretty little Death Eater princeling, then?” Harry smirked in the dark.

“Shut up. Shut up or you’re sleeping on the floor, I swear…”

"What, is daddy being mean?" Fuck, that was definitely going too far. Harry braced for the inevitable reaction.

But instead, Draco’s breath hitched again. “It’s nothing to do with you so why don’t you _fucking go to sleep_ and leave me alone!”

Harry shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.” He turned himself back to his side, forcing himself to ignore the harsh, panting sobs coming from the boy next to him. Without realising it, he fell into sleep. 

* * *

When he woke up the following morning, he was alone in Draco’s bed. He found his robe neatly draped over the back of a chair – a house elf’s work, no doubt, as was the tray with steaming upon the table next to the chair. His glasses were folded next to it. 

He went quickly through the breakfast, eating a little of everything. The house elves had as usual been far too generous. They probably didn’t realise he ranked lower than them in this house, Harry thought bitterly.

Once he had finished, he looked around him, a little curious. Draco usually kicked him out of bed as soon as he finished with him, which meant he had had very little opportunity so far to survey the youngest Malfoy’s rooms. They seemed curiously bare, for all their lavish decoration, devoid of anything truly personal. The only exception to this was an old broomstick, mounted in a frame against a wall. 

When Harry examined it more closely, it turned out be an old Comet 500. Nice, if slightly dated. It seemed well worn, but waxed to perfection, small cracks in the wood lovingly but inexpertly repaired. There was an old photograph inserted in the corner of the frame, and Harry peered at it. It showed Lucius, slightly younger than he looked now, standing next to a small boy with a broom in his hand. It took Harry a few seconds to recognise Malfoy in this picture, despite the blond hair – the boy was smiling delightedly, showing two missing front teeth, clutching a snitch with the hand that wasn’t holding a broom. A small inscription in the corner of the photo, in clumsy handwriting, said “ _My birthday. Queerditch Marsh, 1988_ ”.

A house elf appeared with a loud crack behind him, making him jump suddenly. Another new one. There seemed to be at least a dozen of them around the place now. Clearly, the Malfoys were doing very well out of this new world order.

“Sir,” the creature squeaked, “Kobby is sorry to disturb, but a bath is being ready, if sir wants?”

“A bath?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised. “In here?”

“Not in the bedroom, sir!” The house elf’s eyes bulged moistly. “The bathroom is being through there,” he said, pointing towards one of the doors.

“Oh. Right. I’ll… go now, then, shall I?”

“If sir wants!”

“Alright. Uh… thank you, Koddy."

“Name is being Kobby, Sir, but Kobby’s name is of no importance, no importance at all, Sir.”

"And you probably shouldn't call me "sir", either. It'll get you in trouble."

"As sir wants!" The house elf bowed deeply and disappeared. Harry shrugged. The elf would learn soon enough.

Draco’s bathroom turned out to be smaller than he had expected, and a lot lighter, as well, all white porcelain tiles with a few dark green accents. A far cry from the dark marble with snake motif he had come to expect in the Manor. The bath was indeed full, cheerful white bubbles covering the surface of the water. The soap filled the room with a warm smell of vanilla and milk. 

Harry stripped quickly, and sunk into the warm water gratefully. He didn’t know if this was the house elf’s idea or Malfoy’s - more likely, the former, although anything was possible, given how weird Draco had been -, but it was heavenly. He let himself be lulled into relaxation by the warmth and silence of the bathroom, pushing back all thought. 

All too soon, though, there was a timid knock on the door, and Kobby poked his head in blindly, his small spindly hand covering his overlarge eyes.

“If sir is being finished with his bath, Master Lucius is wanting to see him?” he squeaked.

“Lucius. Fuck,” swore Harry, all trace of his good mood evaporating.

The house elf seemed to hesitate at that. “Is sir wanting Kobby to ask Master Lucius to wait?”

“No, no, I’m getting out.” Harry splashed out and drying himself hurriedly with one of the monogrammed towels. 

* * *

A few moments later, he walked into the elder Malfoy’s study. Lucius was sitting in a deep armchair at his desk, writing.

“Harry.” Lucius smiled, and put down his quill. “Come here, my pet.”

Harry obediently went to sit at the foot of Lucius’ chair. Lucius petted his head affectionately. 

“Did you have a good time with my son last night?” he asked. 

Harry nodded quickly in reply, instinctively, and Lucius laughed briefly. “We’ve really got you well trained, haven’t we, boy?”

“It’s good for Draco,” he continued, stroking Harry’s hair. “He still needs to learn how to be stronger. I suppose having you to push around has been very educational for him. Especially now, with the brilliant future that's lined up for him.” His hand slid down and closed around Harry’s neck, with the barest of squeezes. “It teaches him… that the price of defeat can sometimes be very high indeed.”

Harry shivered under Lucius’ touch, fighting the temptation to move away. Lucius always felt vaguely slimy to him, loathsome in some fundamental way, repulsive in a way no one could approach.

“But it’s a hard price to pay, my pet, giving you to him…” Lucius pulled him up by the throat until their faces were almost touching. “I missed you last night. Can you feel it?” he breathed, pressing Harry’s body close against his tenting hardness. “Touch it,” he whispered, and Harry reached down gingerly, cupping Lucius’s firm erection. “Can you feel it, Harry, how much I want you?”

He lunged forward to kiss Harry, and Harry opened his mouth obediently, letting Lucius in, trying to keep his mind as clear and as detached as possible, ignoring Lucius’s fawning hands on him.

Finally, after an eternity, Lucius broke the kiss with a moan. “Your mouth, pet, I so love your mouth… There’s something so… pure about it,” he purred with half-closed eyes. He pushed Harry down to his knees with feverish haste. “Go on…” he whispered. 

With practiced ease, Harry unlaced Lucius’s trousers, releasing his erection, and took it in his mouth, his tongue already looking for the pleasure points that might shorten this for him. Lucius let out a long hiss and relaxed in his chair, stretching. 

“Merlin, you’re getting good at this…” he breathed.

The door opened suddenly, breaking Harry’s concentration and eliciting a moan of frustration from Lucius. Harry turned instinctively to look, and saw Draco at the door, holding a piece of parchment.

“Father, I…,” Draco started, then cut himself off abruptly, his eyes drifting to Harry kneeling between Lucius’ legs. “Never mind,” he snapped, his mouth pinching shut tightly. Harry and Draco’s eyes met for an instant, and Harry felt an unexpected blush burn his cheeks. Draco’s pale cheeks seemed to colour as well.

“What is it now, Draco?” drawled Lucius, running his fingers through Harry’s hair, pushing him closer again.

“The accounts. The ones you wanted me to look at this morning? I’ve finished.” Draco said, avoiding Harry’s stare. 

“Oh? Well done. Put it on my desk, then, will you?… I’ll take a look at it later.”

“Right.” Draco walked stiffly to the desk and put the parchment down hard. “Father, I…”

“I’m a little busy, Draco,” Lucius said. But his eyes were fixed on Draco with that strange yearning look he got sometimes.

Draco blanched but said nothing, pursing his lips again, and left, slamming the door angrily behind him. Harry blinked, surprised, but already Lucius was pushing himself back into Harry’s mouth, demanding Harry’s undivided attention. 

“So… where were we, my pet?” he whispered softly, trailing his fingers along the curve of Harry’s cheek.

Harry closed his eyes and started working his mouth again, but even when, later, Lucius carried him to the desk and had him there, the image of Draco face gone pale with anger refused to leave him.

* * *

He didn’t see Draco again all day. Narcissa called for him soon after Lucius, and as usual with her, kept him for hours.

Harry really had no idea exactly what Narcissa was trying to achieve with her curious combination of spells, potions, and small, careful gestures that seemed almost surgical in their precision. None of this even looked particularly sexual for her, or at least in never showed in her unfathomable expression. Sex was involved sometimes, certainly, or at least actions that from another person would no doubt have been sexual, but from Narcissa it all seemed like a series of experiments, cold and impersonal.

Once, he had broken down in tears in front of her, something that had never happened to him in front of Lucius, or Draco, and she had gathered him in her arms, dropping the scalpel she had been using on him to the floor, and softly crooned at him, some sort of wordless lullaby. She had rocked him slowly in her arms, while on the floor, the blood on the knife blade had spread in a large irregular stain. Harry had stared at it over Narcissa’s shoulder, unable to stop his sobbing, and she had stroked his hair, and healed him, all without a single word. Then she had picked up the knife from the floor and started cutting him again, tracing odd blood coloured runes all over his skin. 

He had thought he would go mad, that day, but it had passed, one more thing to take in his stride. He had taught himself to stay immobile as Narcissa went through her strange rituals – the important thing was that he would get healed at the end. She always did that. He never tried to understand what she was doing anymore. 

By the time Harry was finally allowed to go back to his room, he was sore and exhausted as a result of Narcissa’s bewildering ministrations. The spells never totally erased the pain. He walked heavily through the long, dark corridors, shivering from walking with bare feet on cold marble. The only small mercy was that it was probably too late for Lucius to request his presence again.

* * *

He had really hoped to be allowed to sleep in his own bed that night - a meager pallet in a tiny, windowless room that, despite being the worse Malfoy Manor had to offer, was ironically still palatial compared to the Dursley's cupboard under the stairs - but his luck, or rather his utter lack of it, held.

Draco emerged from the shadows between two columns and grabbed him by the arm.

"Oi, Potter. You're coming with me."

"What are you doing, skulking in your own house?"

"None of your business. And shut the fuck up, will you?"

Draco was taking him to his bedroom. So long to a peaceful night to recuperate from a hard day.

"I didn't know I was supposed to stay with you tonight as well," said Harry, a whining note coming unbidden in his voice.

"I'm telling you now. Sit down." Draco pushed him towards his bed. Harry sat on the thick brocade bed cover, sagging a little with exhaustion.

"You look terrible." Draco was biting his lip, a contemplative look in his eyes.

"I'm tired. Now, why don't you do what the hell you wanted to do to me quickly so I can sleep?"

"Aren't you supposed to talk a little more respectfully to me?"

"Yeah, well I don't really care tonight, to be honest. I don't see how this day could possibly get any worse anyway, even if you decide to _crucio_ me to death."

Draco knelt in front of him and peered into his face.

"You do look like shit. Are you hungry?"

"What? No!"

"Well, I am." Draco shrugged. He snapped his fingers. "Kobby! Tea and biscuits, now," he said to the house-elf that had immediately appeared. 

"Yes, Master Draco," said the house elf, disapparating in a flash.

"How do you do that?" 

"Do what?"

"Call house elves so quickly." The tiredness had made Harry lightheaded. "You people," he waved his hand vaguely, indicating the manor in general, "you highbrow wizards, how come you always get obeyed so quickly by house elves?"

"Probably because we've been beating them for generations?"

Harry giggled, a sharp, high-pitched laugh, dangerously close to hysterical. "Sure, that's a great way to make people do what you like." Images of his first few weeks in the Manor flashed through his mind. Lucius, training him to obey without question, hitting him relentlessly, breaking him again and again until he thought there would be nothing left of him afterwards. "You _do_ know your father is a sadist, don't you?" he asked conversationally.

Grey eyes fixed on his in warning. "Don't talk about my father, Potter," said Draco, a weary note in his voice.

_And why the hell not?_ There was really not much Draco could do to him. What could possibly come that would be worse than this constant humiliation, this endless misery? This day had been too long, too painful, too horrible. Better to bring the world crashing down, better to make Draco hurt him and be done with it. Some impish, masochistic part of him was dancing merrily at the thought. 

"Your father," said Harry, very deliberately, "is a sadist and a pervert."

Draco sat back on his heels, facing him, saying nothing.

" _And_ he's got some weird twisted obsession with you, too. Do you know, when you walked in on him this afternoon, I think he actually got off on that?"

Draco's face was half hidden in the shadows, unreadable. _Oh, you want more, ferret- boy?_ Another hysterical giggle was threatening.

"Do you know what he told me once? He said he'd like to have me polyjuice into you and fuck me so he'd know how it would _feel_ to..."

"Tea's here, Potter." Again, that weary tone. Kobby had brought a tray, placed in on a small table, and left just as quickly. Harry had barely registered his presence. Draco moved to the coffee table and started pouring the tea with slow, measured gestures.

"So what? Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I heard." Draco suddenly slammed the pot he was holding back down on the table, spilling some of the tea. "And what do you expect me to do about it, exactly?

Harry heard himself continue. He didn't think he could stop himself. "And your mother's just as bad, really. Did you know she likes to _cut_? Not deep, but just so it'll bleed really bad, and then she..."

"SHUT UP! Shut the fuck up, Potter, or I swear I..."

"You'll what? You don't even have a tenth of the imagination she’s got, Malfoy, I really don't think you could compete..."

And Draco was finally on him, punching him, hard. Harry felt his lip split, tasted blood, and closed his eyes in perverse satisfaction - the perfect horrible ending to a perfectly horrible day. He tensed in anticipation of a second blow.

It didn't come. Instead, Draco buried his face in his hands, shoulders trembling slightly.

"What, are you crying _again_ , Malfoy?" 

"I hate you, Potter," came the slightly shaky response.

"Yeah, I know. You keep saying." Somehow, Harry felt vaguely guilty - utterly unfair under the circumstances, he thought, sucking at his cut lip. "Come on, get up, Malfoy, I can't breathe." He nudged the unmoving lump crushing his chest. Draco took a deep breath and rolled off him, sitting on the side of the bed. Mercifully, he didn't seem to be crying anymore. Harry had this sudden image of him comforting a weeping Draco and felt like giggling again at the sheer absurdity of it - poor little Malfoy, being coddled by the hostage his family had been torturing and raping for months. And yet, he couldn't completely shake that feeling of guilt at what he'd told Draco. He wanted to find something to say - sorry your father is such a twisted bastard, perhaps? Sorry your mother is a loony bitch who finds it amusing to skin people alive? Sorry you clearly have no one even vaguely decent around you, sorry they brought you up to be as fucked-up as they are?

Harry sighed, pushing himself off the bed. "Come on, Malfoy, let's have that cup of tea, then," he said instead.

* * *

The tea was good, the taste only slightly marred by the blood still seeping through the cut on his lip. Malfoy hadn’t said anything about it, although Harry was pretty sure he’d noticed. Draco poured cream in his tea and stirred it slowly.

“Hm. I thought for sure you’d take your tea black, Malfoy.” Draco raised his eyebrows enquiringly. “You know, Death Eaters, all that.”

Draco stared at his cup. “Yes, I know, I do let the side down, sometimes.” The ghost of a smile played on his lips. “You don’t disappoint, however. Griffindor - obscene amount of sugar. If our side can’t ever manage to find where your lot is hiding, we’ll just have to wait until the diabetes gets you.”

Sudden, insane hope welled into Harry. _All dead_ , Lucius had repeated countless number of times, _all gone, all but you and you’re a slave_ \- but Draco had just said… Asking would be too dangerous, but he had to know, had to find out. He wanted to plead, to beg Draco to tell him, but he seemed struck by dumbness, his tongue incapable of movement.

“Most of them are alive, you know. Your side. We just don’t know where they are. I know McGonagall is dead, sorry. Weasley senior too, I think. Your Weasley’s still alive, as far as I know. So’s Granger. Father would have told me.”

Harry gaped at him.

“I thought you knew. I always imagined you’d have some clever Griffindor trick for staying in touch with your little friends despite everything.” Draco’s smirk was familiar, but underneath it was a touch of real warmth.

“No, I thought… I believed…” Every time he'd managed to steal a glance at a newspaper, they'd been very clear. Voldemort's victory had been absolute. 

“Well, there you are.” Draco drained his cup. “Merry Yule, or Christmas, or whatever your people celebrate. Not everyone you knew is dead. Isn’t life great?” 

“Malfoy… thank you.” Harry’s eyes were stinging with tears. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to shout, he wanted to fly with joy. He settled for flinging himself at Draco and hugging him madly.

“Don’t tell me _you_ ’re going to start blubbing, now, Potter,” said Draco, his voice slightly muffled.

“No. No,” said Harry, letting him go. “God, Malfoy, you have no idea… I could kiss you.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Potter. It’s still me.”

“Yeah, I know, but God!…”

Draco shrugged. “I just thought you should know. Don’t let anyone find out I told you, or I’m dead.”

“I know. I won’t say anything.” Harry bit at his injured lip. “Malfoy… I’m sorry about what I told you before.”

Again, the barest hint of a smile. “It’s hardly your fault. Although I'd feel a lot better if you told me that polyjuice thing was something you just made up."

Harry winced sympathetically. "Sorry."

"Yeah..." Silence hung between them uncomfortably. Then Draco stretched out his arms, yawning. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"With you?"

"It's my bed, Potter, what do you think?" Draco got up and started unlacing the complex leather ties keeping his outer robe closed, avoiding Harry's eyes. "Don't worry, I don't exactly feel like jumping you at the moment."

Harry watched Draco get ready for bed, too tired to move at first. The thick carpet on the floor felt pleasant and warm and the fragrant tea smelled sweet and pleasing. His dark mood had lifted - they were still alive! Well, some of them were still alive, he amended mentally. Still, for God knows how many months, he'd thought they were all gone, he had mourned for them, cried for them, and somehow managed to survive despite everything - and now... This changed everything, this meant there was hope, a future where he wasn't Lucius Malfoy's plaything, and maybe a chance to fix this, to join the others, fight, defeat Voldemort. He might be stuck here, he might be treated worse than dirt, but now at least he knew he hadn't survived in vain. Now there was a sliver of hope, and it filled him with ebullient joy.

Harry must have been looking at Malfoy while lost in his thoughts, because he suddenly stopped as he was pulling off his underwear to change into his pyjamas.

"Do you _mind_ , Potter?"

"What?"

"Would you kindly stop staring at me when I'm getting changed?"

That struck Harry as so incongruous he started grinning inanely.

"Malfoy, you can't really mean you feel shy? I've seen you naked tons of times!"

"This is different, you prick!" Draco sounded annoyed, but amused - the strange humour of the situation seemed to have struck him as well. He was also blushing slightly. Viewed from a certain angle, and if one forgot the assholishness he was capable of, he could really be almost cute, decided Harry. He looked away, letting Draco get dressed and under the covers.

Harry stripped quickly down to his shorts and joined him. The bed was warm and pleasant, and in his current mood even Draco's presence felt right. He felt intoxicated with elation.

"What on earth are you grinning about now, Potter?" said Draco as he reached for his wand to extinguish the lights.

"Like you said. Not everyone's dead. Life is good."

"Nox, Potter, you git." Draco yawned.

"Nox, Malfoy," said Harry. But it took a long time before his restless thoughts let him settle down into sleep.

* * *

It was the cold that woke him. The window was open, a cold biting wind was insinuating itself between the covers, and there was an empty spot near him where Draco had been sleeping.

Harry sat up, heart suddenly racing. Surprises were never good in Malfoy Manor, he'd learned.

"Malfoy?" he asked blearily. No answer came.

Harry got cautiously out of bed. A grey light was peering in through the window, a dirty, pre-dawn light that barely let him see.

Malfoy was sitting on the ledge of the open window, shivering in the February cold.

"What on earth are you doing there?" asked Harry. His teeth had started chattering. Draco moved, barely perceptibly, but said nothing. He seemed frozen in place, his face a mask of impassivility. "Come back to bed!" 

Draco closed his eyes slowly. "No," he said.

"Malfoy, come on, it's freezing." Harry tugged Draco's arm, getting him back to his feet and shutting the window. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Nothing. I don't know." The words coming out in a rush, edged with panic.

"What's wrong with you now?" said Harry, sitting Draco down on the bed.

"Nothing," came the half-strangled answer. 

_Oh, yes, I know that 'nothing', I know it very well_ , thought Harry. He'd learned much more about fear than he'd ever wanted this past year or so, had made friends with it in all its myriad forms. He could read the panic in Draco's tense limbs, in his taut face.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked. Again, that stupid impulse to help, when there was very little help he could provide.

Draco started to shake his head, then, changing his mind, nodded once.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

"No. "

"Fine. So what do you want to talk about, then?"

"Anything. I don't care. Something stupid. Muggles." The words were coming out in short, tense bursts.

"What about them?"

"I don't know. Tell me... what muggles used to do for fun, or something."

"That's... random."

"Just _talk_ , Harry, for Merlin's sake."

"Fine, then. What do you want to hear about? Television?" said Harry. He draped an arm lightly around Draco's shoulders.

"Sure. Whatever."

"Right. Okay, well, you know how most muggle families had a television, right?"

No answer, apart from a slightly sniffly breath. _Crybaby_ , thought Harry, almost fondly.

"Well, there was a lot of really crap stuff on television. They had this one game where people had to stay in this house, see, and every week people would vote to see who gets thrown out of the house..."

* * *

As Harry nattered on about the intricacies of reality shows, long gone now that Voldemort had enslaved what remained of the country's non-wizard population, he could feel Malfoy slowly thawing under his arm, the tension leaving his limbs slowly. Harry had no idea what terrified Draco this badly, but he knew what he himself craved when scared and alone - warmth, touch, companionship - and so he kept talking, leaving his arm around Draco's shoulder, until Draco himself moved, burying his face in Harry's neck. Then he just held Draco in silence, combing his fingers through the long blond hair.

"You know," he said idly after a while, "you should really cut your hair. It'd suit you."

"Fuck off, Potter, no one's asking you," came the muffled answer. Harry grinned. This was better.

"No, really, it'd make you look a lot less girly, you know?"

"Shut up."

"You should try highlights, too... Or just dye your hair. No offence, but your family has a tendency towards the inbred vampire look that really isn't flattering."

"Shut up!" Draco emerged, eyes still red, but half a smile on his lips.

"Make me."

"Alright." Draco suddenly took Harry's head between his hands, hands pressed on either side, and kissed him hard on the mouth. Harry tensed a little in surprise - Draco has never kissed him before, never - and then relaxed into the kiss, letting Draco feverishly, inexpertly explore his mouth. Then he put his arms around Draco and took charge of the kiss, gently guiding Draco, calming him with soft soothing gestures. Draco was letting him, relaxed and passive, and that brought back some images of the previous night, and with it a rush of pure arousal.

Harry broke the kiss and pushed Draco back until he was lying onto the bed.

Grey eyes looked at him warily. "Potter, what are you..."

"Shh. Stop talking. You'll ruin it." To Harry's surprise, Draco complied, swallowing nervously. Harry smiled. Without the constant stream of insults, there was a chance this could actually be pleasant for a change.

As a reward, he kissed Draco again, gently and thoroughly, nibbling at his lips. Colour was slowly coming back to his cheeks, warmth to his cold skin. He moved down to Draco's neck, his collarbone, oddly frail-looking and bird-like - a little skinnier and Malfoy would start looking positively malnourished - and then down, pushing away his clothes, to get at that white skin that didn't even remotely taste like snow although it looked like it should, that pale expense of chest, almost entirely hairless - lucky bastard - and the pink and vulnerable nubs of Malfoy's nipples.

"What are you..."

"Sh, I told you," said Harry, "Just shut up for a change, okay?"

Draco swallowed nervously but said nothing. Harry smiled to himself - this was much better, he'd always preferred calling the shots in bed - and kept making his slow, teasing way downwards, taking his time to enjoy the flat expanse of Draco's belly, the hard ridge of his pelvis, the light dusting of blond pubic hair leading down from his belly button. From that angle, really, Malfoy wasn't bad at all - too pale, too skinny, but there was something endearing and appealing in that as well.

Malfoy's reactions were kind of cute too. Wordless little sighs, a few surprised gasps, stifled moans. It was really funny how easy it was to make him jump with a well applied little bite or a flick of the tongue. Malfoy was getting terribly aroused, judging by the dark wet patch staining his silk trousers at the apex of his straining length. Harry brushed his teeth lightly over the fabric covered tip experimentally.

Draco sat up with a gasp. "Harry..." he hissed. Harry pushed him back down with one hand.

"Shut up, I told you, or I'll stop, I swear."

Draco let out a shuddering breath, half sigh, half moan. _That’s the second time, now_ , thought Harry, _twice you've called me by my first name tonight, and I don't think you've even noticed_. For some reason, that felt like victory, even more than having Draco writhing under his ministrations helplessly. He felt stupidly satisfied, as though it really meant something. Smiling, he freed Malfoy's erection - like the rest of him long and a little too thin but almost pretty in its neatness - and took him in his mouth.

It didn't take long at all. Draco was far too gone to resist much, and Harry barely had time to start setting up a steady rhythm before Draco came in his mouth with an inarticulate moan. Harry kept lazily lapping until the last of Draco's shudders, then crawled back to lie next to him, resting his head on his hand. Malfoy all pink and panting for breath made a nice picture.

"Why are you smiling like that, Potter?"

"Because that was nice, you knob."

Draco stared at him. "You like doing that?"

"Yes, I do. At least, when no one's treating me like a fucking slave I do."

"I didn't know you were..."

"Yeah, well, I'm not anything, really. But unlike you, I have a sex life -well, had one. Before."

"With whom?" Draco's eyes narrowed.

"None of your business." Harry poked out his tongue teasingly. "Not my fault you never managed to get laid at school."

"I'll kill you, Potter."

"Stop with that. Call me Harry."

Draco said nothing.

"Come on, don't be ungrateful." Harry smirked.

"Fine. I'm going to kill you, _Harry_. Is that better?"

"Much, thank you." Harry settled back onto the pillow. "Think you can get back to sleep now?" he yawned.

"But..."

"But nothing, that was a freebie. Go to sleep."

Draco sat up and looked at him with an odd expression.

"What now, Malfoy?"

"Draco. If I'm going to be calling you Harry."

"Fair enough. What do you want now?"

"I'd like to... I mean, if you don't mind, I'd like to... Try doing that."

Harry sat up, leaning on his elbows. "What?" 

"I don't really know how, but it can't be that complicated, surely?"

Harry tried to think of something to say. _He wants to... And not only that, but am I crazy or did he just ask for permission?_ "Okay, then," he said warily, and lay back down.

* * *

Draco was _really_ inexperienced. So much so that it was almost excruciatingly uncomfortable at first, all elbows and teeth and hair, but Harry gritted his teeth and let him experiment, get his bearings, and settle into something that might be called an acceptable blow job. Only then did he begin to guide Draco, with gentle nudges and a few whispered words - _there, just like that, do that again, harder, don't stop_... - and then it started getting really good, which he hadn't really expected, it started feeling tender and intimate and almost like real sex, and he could feel Draco _trying_ so damn hard, even though he was clearly half-choking at the same time, and that was just adorable really, and made him want to laugh, and at the same time it was so incredibly _hot_ he couldn't help but bury his hands in Draco's hair and buck his hips and thrust into that hot wet mouth, and moan, and _come_ , blindingly, his hand in Draco's hair, tight enough to hurt. He fell back, the tension in him suddenly released, sated. Dimly, he could tell Draco was sputtering weakly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry. Should have warned you," Harry said, lazily trailing a finger down Draco's back.

"You _think_?" said Draco, shooting him a murderous glance. He'd managed to get come all over his face. "Asshole."

"Clumsy."

"Really?" Draco shot him a sudden, worried glance.

"Nah. That was... Really nice, actually." 

An odd, shy smile. "Good, then. I'm glad."

"Come back to bed, Draco?"

"I'm going to wash my face first, Potter, this is disgusting."

" _Harry_."

"Harry."

Half listening to the sound of Draco's ablutions, Harry felt himself drift into deep, contented sleep. There was a lot that was going to require thought, a lot of questions to ask, a new, strange thing between them to explore oh so carefully, lest it unravelled and vanished before it had the chance to become something, but all that could wait a few more hours.

When he woke up the following morning, it was close to noon, judging from the sun. Malfoy was gone. Malfoy's things were gone. The room was empty of personal possessions, as though no one had ever lived there, bar the old framed broomstick on the wall. 

* * *

All day, he wandered aimlessly through the manor. He had developed stealthy ways of getting around without being noticed, and the house elves always knew when to find him if the masters of the house required his presence. No one seemed to be there. The huge house was empty and dark. Even Narcissa and Lucius's apartments, which Harry approached cautiously, were cold and deserted, which had never happened before. 

Harry did think of trying the manor's defenses, although it was highly unlikely they were down. And, sure enough, as soon as he reached out to touch a windowpane, he felt the vaguely electrical tingling of the array of impenetrable spells designed to keep him in. No point in trying further. He had done so at first, so many times, hoping to find a flaw somewhere, but all he'd managed was to trigger the really aggressive spells, the ones that burned and restrained. The cage was perfect. He'd never managed to set even one foot outside the manor in more than a year.

For two days, Harry stayed alone in the house. It should have been restful, but instead he felt jumpy, and to be honest a little worried. He really hoped this had nothing to do with the news Draco had told him. Hope was a cruel thing after all, it brought with it a renewed gnawing fear - if they were _alive_ , they could be hurt, they could be _killed_ , a small panicky part of him kept gibbering irrationally. And he also felt slightly worried about Draco's frankly strange behaviour, which felt very hard to explain. Lucius hadn't seemed at all out of sorts the previous day, so it couldn't really be bad news for Voldemort's side. All this could very well be unconnected, random, but still he felt restless and unsettled.

On the third day, Lucius and Narcissa came back. Harry saw them come in from his hiding place on top of the great stairs. They seemed in great spirits.

And sure enough, it didn't take Lucius long to call him to his side. Harry had learned to dread the elder Malfoy's good moods just as much as his bad ones. A playful, jocular Lucius was probably even worse than an angry Lucius. A lot more unpredictable and hard to satisfy, certainly.

Lucius seemed certainly very pleased with himself, and unusually inventive as a result. Harry obeyed Lucius' orders automatically but always to the letter. Lucius could be a real bitch to deal with if he wasn't obeyed promptly and exactly. And he hated the slightest hint of rebellion in Harry, so the safest course was to give in absolutely.

Still, it was hard to keep himself from reacting when the sick bastard took him to Draco's room and had him on his son's bed. But even with this new twist, Lucius was just something to be endured, and Harry had had more than enough practice to know how to detach himself from what was happening and let it all wash over him in an indistinct rush.

The thing, though, with Lucius, was that it was never over. Once physically sated, Lucius usually felt the urge to talk, and sure enough, as soon as he had enough, he started petting Harry like some sort of cat, reminiscing aloud.

"He always was such a pretty child, you know."

_Yes, I know, you incestuous pervert, you've told me before_ , thought Harry. He really didn't want to listen to the whole rant now. It made him feel sick to his stomach, and more than a little sorry for Draco.

"It's a good thing he doesn't have too much of the Blacks in him. They always had this slightly plebeian look to them - well, the males did, anyway." Lucius chuckled to himself. "But Draco was always pure Malfoy, unspoilt and perfect. And so like me."

_Sorry to disappoint, but Draco isn't quite as bad as you, you disgusting slimy inbred waste of space_ , though Harry. He made himself lean into Lucius' absent minded caress. Maybe that would distract him from his current train of thought and he'd drop the subject. It was really too awful to listen to.

"You know, I really think that's why the Dark Lord has chosen my Draco as his consort," added Lucius musingly. "The purity of the bloodline. I don't think he'll be able to appreciate the magnitude of the gift I've just given him, though. The beauty of him. The perfection of him..."

Harry struggled to hide his shock, to hide behind his practiced mask of indifference. But then it suddenly hit him, that this was _why_ , that this explained everything about Draco's behaviour, what he'd wanted, why he was so terribly scared, why he'd cried and why he'd sought comfort in the most unlikely place. He'd wanted Harry to fuck him because he hadn't want to come to Voldemort a virgin, because he hadn't wanted Voldemort to be the first to do that to him. Harry felt the blood drain away from his face. This was awful, this was beyond terrible, how could Lucius…

"You gave your own son to _him_ , you bastard?"

Lucius' sudden hard slap threw him halfway across the room. His ears were ringing. His nose was bleeding. Still, the fury wouldn't leave him.

" _Your own son_? You heartless, twisted bastard, how could you?"

Lucius' heavy footsteps getting closer, his leather-gloved hand closing around his neck, pulling him up brutally.

"You inhuman _fuck_ ," Harry managed to choke out, before Lucius started beating him in earnest, before his face became a mess of blood and broken bones, before he was thrown back into the cell in the cellar to wait, unhealed, for days.

Then Narcissa fixed him, just so Lucius could beat him all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucius avoided him after that. It was too unlikely to hope it was because he’d finally developed some shred of a conscience. He was probably still furious, or, quite possibly, had simply tired of him at long last. At first, the beating Harry had received had seemed a small price to pay for this reprieve. But after a while, with Draco gone and Lucius ignoring him, the loneliness became deathly. No matter how much he'd wished to be left alone those past months, the sheer boredom of life at the Malfoys was now threatening to drive him insane.

Lucius, who was in any case usually away on business during the day, was now rarely at the manor even in the evenings. Narcissa, however, began asking for him every day. But she had stopped engaging in her strange unfathomable games. All she seemed to require of him was his presence as she went about her peculiar daily rituals. 

Narcissa got up very late. Accordingly, Harry would usually spend the morning wandering through the manor aimlessly, sometimes picking up a book in the Malfoys' large library. But the selection of reading matter was hardly congenial, and Harry was too distracted to get immersed in anything. Thoughts of his friends, out there somewhere, trying to reverse this terrible evil, kept intruding. Thoughts of Draco, as well, that brought a deep gnawing anxiety nothing would relieve.

Around noon, Narcissa would send for Harry. He would find her in her rooms, where she would be in the process of very slowly getting ready for her day. She usually called him when she was ready to leave her bath. She would stand in the middle if the room and ask Harry to dry her, utterly unconcerned with her nudity, doll-like in her utter passivity. Then, she would move to her dressing room, where she would sit at her mirror, wrapped in a white gown, brushing her hair in excruciatingly slow strokes. She would carefully repeat the gesture, endlessly, until her hair shone like spun white gold. Then she would start making up her face to perfection with a multitude of small indistinguishable vials containing potions whose purpose Harry could only guess at. At intervals, she would take a look at her face in the mirror, frown, then start wiping the makeup off, starting all over again from scratch. As far as Harry could tell the end result was perfectly identical each time, but it usually took Narcissa three or four times to achieve some measure of satisfaction. For Harry, who stood by her side through the entire ordeal, it was endless. But if he moved away, she would beckon with a graceful swish of her wand, and Harry found his feet moving by themselves back to the exact same spot.

Taking care of her hair and face usually took Narcissa to the end of the afternoon, when she would just as slowly start getting dressed. She usually didn't talk much to Harry during the whole endless exercise, sometimes asking him to fetch something for her, or to hold an implement. Often, she would call him Draco absentmindedly. When she realised her mistake, she seemed so lost for a moment Harry couldn't help feel sorry for her. Other times, he just wanted to shake her until she started screaming. Weeks, then months of this, made him sometimes look back longingly at the time his worst nightmare was Lucius. Now it was being stuck there forever, taking care of this madwoman, while outside, people were fighting, perhaps dying.

Draco had spent hours with her every day, when he'd been at the house. He probably knew how to speak to her, how to bring her back to done semblance of normality. Harry had no idea. He'd always assumed Bellatrix's insanity had been the result of years in Azkaban. Now, watching her sister, he wondered whether there wasn't something else, a flaw somewhere in the lineage. That brought on thoughts of Sirius, the godfather he'd known so briefly. Had he also carried the same fragility as his cousins? He had seemed so much stronger, but at the time Harry had been nothing but a child.

Then again, he had no idea what had driven Narcissa to this state. It could very well be that more than twenty years married to Lucius Malfoy would do that to anybody. 

When the heavy ebony clock in Narcissa's room showed eight-thirty, it would chime, an incongruously cheerful little tune that set Harry's teeth on edge every time. Then, perfectly punctual every time, Narcissa would come down for dinner. She usually wanted Harry at her side until the moment she entered the dining room, incapable of being on her own a single second. Sometimes she kept him by her side when she was eating, and he'd stand, one step behind her to her left, legs aching now with weariness, as he watched the minutes pass on the dining room clock. He felt like he knew every single timepiece in this house intimately, so slow and excruciating was the passage of time.

If this happened to be one of the nights Lucius was there, alone or with guests, Narcissa would undergo a remarkable metamorphosis as she went through the door. Suddenly, she would turn into this vibrant, beautiful woman, a perfect wife and hostess, chatting amicably with everyone, smiling regally. She looked very much like Draco then. The illusion was not perfect - her laugh a little too shrill, her eyes too bright, but Lucius never seemed to notice. He looked at her with deep satisfaction but with a chilling appraising coldness, as one would do a prized possession that was fulfilling its purpose perfectly.

When Lucius wasn't there, Narcissa would sit forlornly at the table, playing perfunctorily with the food the house elves had laid out for her. After the last dish was cleared, she would move to the drawing room, and there proceed to get methodically, carefully, blindingly drunk. Those evenings, she would usually require Harry's help to get back to her room.

But once she was asleep, Harry had nothing to do but go back to his small sparse room and think, worrying at the same insoluble problems like a dog gnawing forever at the same dry bone.

* * *

When Draco came home, it was with absolutely no warning. One morning, as he made his way downstairs, thinking to go scrounge breakfast off the house elves, Harry was startled to find all the shutters and curtains pulled open in the main house. The late spring sunlight made the manor unexpectedly cheery.

From downstairs, Harry could hear voices. Careful not to make any noise, he settled into his hiding place on the upper gallery, from where he could survey the hall without being seen.

Narcissa was welcoming some people. Harry saw Lucius first, and then his breath caught as he recognised the familiar shape of Draco, lowering the hood of his heavy cloak. He was smiling broadly as he embraced his mother. He _had_ cut his hair, Harry realised with a start. It was now short and slightly spiky, an unusual style for a wizard, really. Narcissa seemed to be commenting on it as well, in fact, patting the short strands in an ineffective attempt to smooth them. She said something Harry couldn't quite catch, in an interrogative tone, and Draco laughed. In fact, Draco looked perfectly happy. Something about made Harry grit his teeth angrily. Just then, Draco looked up. Harry drew back into the shadows, but he felt sure Draco had seen him for a second.

Harry had to wait until Narcissa called him to her to know more. He found her at her dressing table, humming to herself happily. "My little dragon is back, you know," she beamed happily at Harry.

"Mother, please, don't call me that in front of the help," drawled a familiar voice. Harry looked up instantly. Draco was leaning in the doorframe to Narcissa's bedroom. He was wearing black, as ever, flowing open robes, over a tight leather doublet-like jacket and a pair of leather trousers. Around his neck was a heavy gold chain, ending in a snake's head with glittering ruby eyes. He looked much older than when he'd left. His expression was unreadable.

"Draco cut his hair, see, Harry," pouted Narcissa. "I don't know if I like it. Do you?"

Draco sighed. "Mother, please. We do have to come down for luncheon. Father will be cross."

"I don't care. Nothing matters, now you're back, dragon."

"I'm leaving soon, Mother, you do recall?" Draco said gently. "I have to go back to the Dark Lord, you know that. He has only given me two days." Draco's eyes flitted to Harry's very briefly as he spoke.

"Yes, dear, but let's pretend you are back for good. Please. You know how I do like playing pretends." She smiled girlishly.

"If you like, mother." He came to her side and took the brush from her hand. "Your hair is fine. Come on, let's go downstairs."

"You think I look well enough?" she patted her hair coquettishly. To Harry, Narcissa looked dreadful. Sunlight showed what candles usually hid - the bags under her eyes, the tired, sallow skin, the deep frown lines on her forehead.

Draco kissed her cheek. "You always look beautiful, mother." He took her gently by the hand, helping her rise. "Come on, let's go."

"Can Harry come? I like having him close."

"Father wouldn't like that. And I'll be with you, remember." He led Narcissa out, without another look for Harry.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks. He had no idea if Draco would want to see him, no idea for that matter what he would say if they did find a chance to speak. Draco had seemed utterly collected, cold and expressionless.

Like a perfect Death Eater, in other words.

Like his father.

Perhaps the vulnerable, ironic, likable Draco he'd seen so briefly was already gone forever. But Harry didn't want to believe it was possible. All he really had to hang his hopes on were those two brief glances, one of which he could just as well have imagined. 

The hours passed slowly. Downstairs, the Malfoys were entertaining guests, but this time Lucius didn't call him down to parade him in front of his friends. _He has someone else to impress the neighbours, now,_ thought Harry. For Lucius, this would be another way to prove his unmistakable status as Voldemort's trusted advisor. 

Harry was pacing the long attic corridor just outside his room, trying to distract himself from his train of thought, when a sudden soft scraping noise made him jump. A panel had slid open in the corridor, where there had always been a perfectly smooth wall before, and Draco emerged, in night robes.

"Good, you're up," he said.

Harry had spent the entire day thinking about what to say to Draco if he did get the chance, had, in fact, a whole speech prepared. What he managed to actually say, in a strangled, slightly squeaky voice, was "Draco?"

"My parent have retired for the night," Draco said curtly. "I thought you might be asleep as well. We had guests who just wouldn't leave."

“How did you...?” Harry gestured at the panel in the wall, which had closed up seamlessly. 

“You mean you haven't found the secret passages yet? You really are an imbecile, Potter, I had them figured out when I was five.” 

Relief flooded through Harry. Draco was still Draco after all. He hadn't really fathomed how lonely he'd been without Draco, how Draco's presence had always been a comfort, even before that brief encounter before his departure, even when Draco had mostly ignored him or sneered disdainfully at him. It had been a thread of familiarity when his world had gone completely awry, something to hold on too, something that proved not everything was gone. But this was something he'd only realized once Draco was away.

“Call me Harry, you ass.”

Draco grinned. “It's good to see you too.” Just then, he looked almost exactly like the old Draco - annoying, infuriating, really, but the sheer familiarity of it was wonderful. Harry threw himself at Draco, kissing him fiercely. 

Draco pulled back gently from the kiss. He had a look of uncertainty, almost a question, in his eyes. A question for Harry, perhaps, but one Harry felt was too dangerous to answer. In fact, it didn’t feel like speaking at all was safe. Whatever was between them was too fragile. Perhaps trying to put words on it would break it.

So instead, he took Draco by the hand, and led him to his room, to his bed. It was a far cry from the heavy mahogany one in Draco’s bedroom, a simple, stark metal frame with the barest of furnishings, but it would have to do. Draco let himself be pushed back unto the thin sheets. He didn’t seem to be eager to speak either. 

Gently, Harry divested him of his clothes, dropping soft kisses on Draco’s pale skin as it was exposed. He kept his gestures slow and careful, letting them ask the questions he didn’t dare to ask out loud - _is this all right? do you want this? do you still want me?_. And thankfully, mercifully, Draco wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t telling him no. He just looked at Harry through half-lidded eyes, expression inscrutable, guarded. But each kiss seemed to warm him a little, to thaw the layer of ice that had settled on him. His breathing was becoming slowly, imperceptibly louder, faster, and a pink tinge had started colouring his skin, but his fists stayed at his side, clenched. Harry couldn't have that. He took Draco's hand in his and pressed it to his own mouth.

Draco's expression was still unreadable, but he started tracing the contour of Harry's mouth with a finger, in a soft, tender gesture, his cheekbone, his eyes, his brow. And then something seemed to break within Draco, and suddenly Harry was being pressed hard against him, was being kissed desperately, hungrily. Feverish fingers were undressing him, were stroking him, were caressing every part of his body, and it felt so incredibly _right and so _good it was almost painful. Draco cheeks were moist with tears, which Harry would have found amusing - _can't we do this without you crying, for once?_ \- if his own eyes hadn’t been stinging as well. __

They were both hard now, panting for breath. Draco's cheeks were flushed, his lips half parted with need. Harry reached down between them, grasping both their erections in his hand. The friction was exquisite, the feeling that of soft silky velvet over steel. Harry started stroking both of them in earnest, his other arm keeping Draco close to him, his breath harsh, ragged in his ear. Their skin was burning, slick with sweat. 

Harry felt Draco shudder, and teeth clenched on Harry's shoulder, almost but not quite painfully. Harry felt him spasm in his hand, Draco's seed spurting hot on him, and held Draco close, milking him until he was fully, absolutely spent. 

He'd thought to leave Draco a few moments to recuperate, but already Draco's hand was encircling him, stroking him in long, hard strokes. Through the urgency, the need for release, Harry had the time to feel, to appreciate Draco's hand on him, the first time Draco was touching him like that, in a way that felt intimate and deeply personal, before his orgasm took him and all thought disappeared for a while. 

When he came back, Draco was watching him. The mask of coldness was back on. 

"You don't happen to have a towel or something lying around, do you?" 

"Well, as you can see, the amenities here are rather limited." Harry gestured to his bedroom. Apart from the bed, he had a small washstand that looked like it had been there since the early nineteenth century. It was kept filled with cold water by a spell. Harry had reflected many times that it really wouldn't have been much harder for the water to be warm, but clearly the occupants of the room had never warranted hot water. Lucius, in one of his chatty moods, had told Harry this used to be one of the rooms reserved for muggle domestics, before the habit of keeping muggle slaves had been outlawed - a wrong, Lucius had said, sounding deeply gratified, was very soon going to be rectified under the new regime. "I do have a piece of an old robe I use as a washcloth." 

"Lovely. The hospitality in this house has really gone downhill." Draco got up to clean himself. "I'd tell that new house elf to let you use my bathroom again, but he'd probably get in trouble." 

"Kobby? Yes, he gets in trouble all the time. Keeps calling me Master Harry in front of Lucius." Harry had sat up to look at Draco better. In the light of the one candle he had, Draco's skin shone like marble, the long lines of his body softened by the flicker of the flame. Physically, he looked healthier than last time Harry had seen him naked. They must keeping him well-fed over there. He had always imagined Draco would be badly treated. But after all, perhaps it was quite different to be consort to the Dark Lord. 

"I'd love to see my father's reaction to that," Draco replied, cleaning himself, unaware of the dark turn Harry's thoughts had taken. "And Mother hates it so when he shouts at house elves..." He walked back to the bed, holding out the washcloth for Harry. 

Harry took it, and then froze. On Draco's right hip was a scar, an ugly red colour. A deep V, almost a hand-span in height. He didn't see how he could have missed it before. His hand comes up of its own accord to trace the hard ridge of scar tissue. 

Draco grabbed his hand. "Don't." His mouth twisted in a bitter grimace for a brief instant. " _His_ idea of fun. It's nothing." 

Harry bit his lip. He wanted know, he felt like he should know, but... 

Draco sat down next to him and, taking back the wet cloth from Harry's now limp hand, starting wiping away from him the traces of the transient pleasure they'd shared. "I'm much better off than you. You should see what my room is like, for one. And I get much better clothes." 

"Yes, if you like black leather and flashy jewellery," snorted Harry. 

"I actually don't mind black leather. You have no taste." Draco smiled. "But yes, the jewellery is terrible. Malfoys wear emeralds, not rubies." He was smiling, but there was a note of tension in his voice. 

"Tell me," Harry demanded. "Please." 

"Tell you what?" 

"Tell me about it. About _him_. 

“You don't want to know.” 

"And what if I do?" 

Draco gritted his teeth. "And what do you want me to say? 'Oh, well, he's an old softie, really, it's really not that bad?' Harry, it's him. The Dark Lord. It's awful, of course it is, and I can't even show how sick to my stomach he makes me feel, and I have to find ways to make myself look like I enjoy it, look like I can stand it, because otherwise..." 

Draco was clenching and unclenching his hand mechanically, the left one, the arm that now bore the hated skull and snake. 

“And it's not even the worse part. You see the mark? I never had it before. I didn't deserve it. You have to have proven yourself to him first, you see. You need to have killed someone. He made me do it. He showed me, and he made me do it. And you have no idea, Harry, of proud of me he was when I did it.” Draco's voice was harsh, the words forced out as though physically wrenched from him. He was looking at Harry like he was expecting some sort of answer, condemnation, forgiveness, absolution, something, out of Harry. 

Harry tried to say something, but no words came. _Oh, great work, Harry. That'll teach you._ But he had to find something that would answer Draco's mute question. So he pulled Draco closer to him and lay his head on his shoulder. 

“I like your hair short like this. I told you it’d suit you.” 

Draco laughed weakly. “Hell of a non sequitur.” 

Harry shrugged. “Yes, well.” 

"You're the one who wanted to know.” Draco started stroking Harry's hair, almost absentmindedly. 

Harry leaned into the caress. “I imagine it’s not as though you had a choice.” 

“I don’t know. At the time, it felt like I hadn’t. But there’s always a choice. Really, I was just too scared to think. I can’t disobey him. I’m just not strong enough.” 

__“You came to see me tonight. I’m pretty sure that must have taken some courage.”_ _

__Draco laughed, a harsh, bark-like laugh. “You don't have any idea, do you? Do you think I would be here if there was the slightest chance he'd find out? The castle is too heavily warded for him to keep an eye on me here, because of you. Otherwise, there's no chance I would dare. I'm really not that brave, you know."_ _

__Draco was disengaging himself from Harry’s arms, picking up his clothes. “Actually, I really have to go back to bed. I’m supposed to go hunting with my father tomorrow.”_ _

__“Hunting? for what?”_ _

__“What do you think? muggles, of course.” Draco snickered at Harry’s expression as he pulled on his clothes. “Grouse, you idiot. This is a hunting estate. It’s a perfectly respectable wizarding pastime, as long as you use wands like a civilized person."_ _

__"That seems like a really stupid thing to do, wandering along killing harmless birds."_ _

__"Well, I don't really expect someone like you would understand.”_ _

__“Oh, sure, I'm much too common, aren't I.”_ _

__"It's a family thing." Draco's casual dismissal of him, of what had just happened, made Harry unconscionably angry. He knew at the same time he was being unfair. Maybe Draco had already given more than he could legitimately have expected, maybe that confession had already cost Draco enough, but Harry still felt dark fury rise in him._ _

__"Go, then, I wouldn't want you to miss some precious time with your monster of a father."_ _

__"My father has his faults, but he's hardly a monster," snapped Draco back._ _

__Harry drew a breath to protest, but Draco stopped him before he'd had the chance to say a single word. "I know what you're going to say. But the thing is, to me he's my father, and that's it."_ _

__"He hardly deserves to be called a father! Draco, do you know what he feels for you?"_ _

__"Yes, I do, I'm not fucking blind, and by the way, Harry, thank you so much for reminding me, because that was exactly what I needed right now. The thing is, Harry... The thing is, I know all that, I know what he did to you, but... I need to be able to forgive him. He's all I have, now that mother is..." He gritted his teeth. "He's always been there for me. And no matter how he might have felt, he never, ever laid a finger on me, for your information."_ _

__"Oh, wonderful. He never did anything to you? He gave you to Voldemort!"_ _

__"He didn't have a choice!"_ _

__"There's always a choice. You said so yourself, remember. And besides..." Harry knew he was being cruel, but nothing could have stopped him. "Do you have any idea how proud, how fucking pleased he was about it afterwards?"_ _

__"Go to hell, Potter." Draco's face was white with anger._ _

__Some dark part of Harry felt oddly vindicated when Draco left, slamming the door. Another part of him wanted to run after him and apologize, beg for Draco to come back, to pretend again like everything could possibly be right between them._ _

__He sat in the darkness of his room, listening to silence, trying not to think._ _

* * *

No one called for him the following day. If Kobby hadn't taken the initiative to bring him some food sneakily, he wouldn't have had a bite to eat, either.

It left him way too much time to reflect on Draco and Lucius, on the heart-breaking love that was plain on Draco's face every time he saw Lucius. On the cold pride that shone in Lucius's eyes when he was with his son, the lust that burned in a cruel parody of the love the man was obviously incapable of feeling.

How Draco could possibly ignore it was unfathomable. Harry could remember the bitter disappointment he had when he had realized his father hadn't been perfect, could remember it hadn't made the slightest difference in how much he loved him, but James had been a thoughtless bully, not a sadistic monster. Although perhaps the love he felt for parents he had never met was no less unreasonable than the love Draco had for his inhuman father. 

Hours passed slowly. The sky behind his room's small grew dark, then black as coal. Draco was leaving in the morning. This very well could be the last chance he had to make some sort of apology for the previous night, to repair whatever fragile link there had been between them. 

When he judged the night was advanced enough for it to be safe, he left his room. He remembered exactly where the panel Draco had opened had been. He looked at it carefully. The door had clearly been purely magical, and even if Harry had had his wand, the wards on the manor prevented him from doing any magic at all. But Draco had said he had used those passages as a small child. That had to mean there was a non-magical way to open them.

And sure enough, as he ran his fingers along the mouldings, he felt something give, and the wall slid back easily, with the same whispery scraping he'd heard before. It was almost anticlimactic. The narrow corridor behind it was utterly dark, but Harry had his light with him, a single enchanted candle that burned without melting. It didn't light much more than a few feet in front of him, but it was enough. There again, Harry had to wonder about the sheer casual malevolence of it. If they were going to give him a magical light, it could just as easily have been something a little more effective, couldn't it?

The passage was entirely bare, seemingly carved into the space behind the walls. It was a mess of cobwebs and dust. Harry went down a flight of steep stairs, then another long corridor. It ended in an intersection. He had long lost his bearings, although he knew the house like the back of his hand by now. He paused, tried to think, tried to clear his mind of the claustrophobia that was threatening to engulf him.

Then it struck him. It was obvious, really. He tried one side, found a mass of cobwebs brushing his face. The other side was almost free of them. Obviously, it had to be the one Draco had taken the previous day. There was something funny about the thought of Draco navigating through spider-infested corridors, something utterly at odds with his almost cat-like fussiness. Then again, Draco could possibly just burn them away with a flick of the wand. Lucky bastard, he thought ruefully as he tested another intersection and found himself with a faceful of angry spider for his trouble.

His method of navigation took him to a dead end. The wall seemed indistinguishable from the others at first, but as he brought his feeble light closer, he saw names carved in the cracked limestone. The most recent and clearest was Draco's, in the same clumsy handwriting Harry had seen on the photograph in his room. Lucius's name was there too, embellished with an elaborate curlicue, but just as childishly formed. The other names were unfamiliar, apart from Abraxas - Draco's grandfather, if Harry recalled correctly. Some of the oldest were barely legible.

Everything was silence. It didn't mean danger wasn't waiting for him on the other side. But then again, he didn't have that much to lose, really. He felt the wall, looking for the hidden latch that had to be there. He found it, a notch in the stone that felt worn down as if by countless hands. The wall slid away, noiselessly this time, and once Harry stepped through, closed itself invisibly. There wasn't the slightest seam in the wood panelling to show where it had been.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had been right, it was Draco's bedroom. It was pitch dark. Harry advanced cautiously, keeping his hand in front of his candle to dim the light. Draco was sleeping deeply, lying on his side, half out of the covers. Lips half-parted, face in repose, he looked almost childlike. 

Harry leaned in to see better, but Draco was a light sleeper. His eyes flew open suddenly and a hand came up defensively in reflex.

"Draco, it's me", said Harry.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

"To talk." Harry put the candle down on Draco's bed stand.

"Oh?" said Draco. "And what made you think _I_ wanted to talk?" He yawned sleepily, rather spoiling the effect he was going for. 

"Draco, I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. About what I said last night."

Draco shrugged. "As I said before, none of this is exactly your fault."

"Yes, but I mean..."

"You mean you could be less of an ass about it? Honestly, Potter, I've known you for ten years. Clearly, you can't help it."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"God, you _did_ come to apologize. How disturbing. I don't think you've ever done that before." 

"There's a first time for everything." 

Draco sighed. "You don't have to, really. Sure, everything is completely fucked up. But it's just the way things are." He lifted a corner of his eiderdown. "You look like you’re freezing. Climb in."

Harry snuggled against him. "You're warm," he said appreciatively.

Silence fell between them.

"So you did find the passages in the end, then?" asked Draco.

"Yes, very useful." Harry was twirling a strand of Draco's hair between his fingers. It felt important to learn the texture of it, to remember it. "What's the point of them? It's not like house elves need them to get around," he asked absent-mindedly.

"They date back to the time the manor was built, in the eighteenth century, when we had muggle servants. Like your room." Draco wasn't objecting, so Harry kept exploring the textures of his face, the smooth cheeks with only the barest hint of stubble, the patrician line of his nose.

"What is it with all the names outside your bedroom?"

"You've seen them?"

"Yes. Nice handwriting, by the way."

"Fuck you, I was eight." Draco smiled, a little sadly. "They're all there, all the Malfoys to have been born here. Ten generations of only sons. It must be some sort of record."

"That's just strange."

"Malfoys don't have girls. Don't ask me why. And we have this tradition of stopping at one child. Wouldn't do to split the estate." Harry rolled his eyes. "Mind you, it probably stops here. I don't really see a happy marriage in my future."

"I always thought you were going to end up with that silly Parkinson girl."

"That was supposed to be the plan, yes.” He stretched lazily. “Wow, when you think about it, I really dodged a bullet there."

Harry burst out laughing. "God, Draco, you can't tell me Pansy would have been worse than Voldemort!"

"I don't know." Draco raised an eyebrow. "It sure felt like she was the absolute worse, when I was seventeen."

"Why?"

Draco looked frankly amused. "Hell, Harry, I don't know, what do you _think_?," he drawled. He ruffled Harry's hair. "You really are thick, sometimes."

"So you're gay, you mean."

"He says, half-naked in my bed," Draco laughed. "Yes, I like boys, you moron. Though I never really have much chance to put theory in practice before, what with one thing and another."

"And you were still supposed to marry Parkinson?"

"Sure. Personal preferences have nothing to do with it. As my father told me many, many times, Malfoys are expected to make certain sacrifices."

"Oh, it's another of those manor-owning grouse-hunting posh things a commoner like me can't be expected to understand," Harry grinned.

"Exactly. There has to be _some_ drawback to go with all the rest."

"What, apart from the whole quasi-albino thing?"

"I'm _seriously_ going to kill you", said Draco, pouncing on Harry, laughing. Harry let himself be pummelled for a few moments before flipping Draco over, catching his wrists and holding them above his head. Draco put up a show of struggling, arching against Harry in the most interesting way. Harry bent down to catch his mouth with his and kissed him thoroughly. Draco kissed him back, slipping his tongue between Harry's mouth, and soon they were entwined in each over's arms, clinging fiercely, and the laughter had vanished, leaving in its place something inexpressibly sweet and deadly serious. 

They made love. Draco didn't have to tell Harry what he wanted. A single glance towards his bed stand, where had been the oil they'd used before was enough. Harry took him gently and carefully, wanting to show him good this could be. He aimed his strokes carefully for that sensitive spot inside, and was rewarded when Draco suddenly flushed a deep red, his mouth a voiceless o of surprise that made Harry smile knowingly. When Draco tried to touch himself, to bring himself over the edge, Harry gently brushed his hands away, wanting to give Draco the time to really feel this, to let the pleasure build within him until it became unbearable, wanting to be the one to take Draco there.

When Draco came, it was with total abandon, throwing his head back, eyes open as if in shock, and it was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

After, they lay together for a long time, on their side, facing each other. They held hands tightly, neither wanting the one to let go, or to break the silence that had settled between them. Both lost in thought, they looked at each other, as outside the sky slowly started getting lighter.

Draco was the first to speak. "Harry. Harry, there's something I have to tell you."

Harry felt himself tense up. He had known this fragile bubble of peace would burst soon enough.

"Listen, Harry, I've fiddled with the warding spells. At the next new moon, in two weeks or so, you should be able to get out. I've set it up so it shouldn't be too noticeable at first, but you'll have to be quick, my father is really paranoid about defences and I can't tell when he'll check them."

Through the shock, Harry felt raw, painful hope. It couldn't be. "You did _what_?"

Draco attempted a version of his usual smirk. But Harry couldn't be fooled. A slight tremor was coursing through Draco's hands. If he had really done this, Draco had utterly betrayed not only Voldemort's side, but his own father. "Yes, well, I've decided you were much too annoying to keep around. So now you can stop mooning about and get out and go find your little friends."

"Draco, why? Why would you do that for me?"

"For stupid, idiotic reasons I'd rather not have to explain, if you don't mind. Anyway, stop looking at me like that, I wasn't even going to tell you, after last night. Though I'm pretty sure you would have figured it out by yourself, anyway. You ought to be able to physically feel it when it happens. Most of the spells are keyed to you."

Draco continued. "Father will be able to tell it was me who did it, probably, but I really don't think he'll tell. And I don't think anyone else would know. I've rigged it so it could pass for someone from outside making a really lucky guess at the structure of the spell array. So perhaps my father won't get into too much trouble for this." 

Draco paused. Harry was speechless. "Come on, don't look so shocked. It's not that surprising. I'm actually really good at wards."

"It's not that, you ass! I just... I can't believe you're doing that for me."

"Well, don’t thank me too quickly. I’m probably sending you to your death. I know there’s _is_ a resistance somewhere, but that’s about all I can give you. I don't exactly get told a lot of details."

"Why don't you come with me, Draco?"

“Firstly, I really don't think your side would welcome me with open arms. And secondly, even if there was a chance in hell I'd make it, I just can't. He'd kill them. My parents. I know that. He told me. At the slightest sign of disloyalty on my part.”

"And?" _So what? Your mother is so far gone it would probably be kinder. And Lucius deserves everything that's coming to him._

"Yes, Harry, I know, but they're my _parents_. You know how you can have every reason in the world to hate someone, and at the same time love them so much?”

“Yes, Draco, I’m quite familiar with the sentiment, actually." He poked Draco on the nose.

“Oh, ha. Very funny.”

“What? It’s not my fault. You look cute with short hair.”

Draco nudged him. “You’re just grateful because I’m getting you out of here.”

“You think?”

“Harry, really, I don’t think this is the right time to go all mushy on me.”

“Maybe not.” Harry paused. “How about after?”

“After what?”

“After the war. After all this is over. When the good guys win and the world is put to rights.”

Draco shrugged. 

“What? Stranger things have happened.”

“Fine, then. _If_ the good guys win and the world is put to rights, then you have my full permission to be as mushy as you like.” Draco was keeping his tone light, but he was avoiding Harry's eyes.

This was enough. It would have to do for now, anyway. 

“So you're leaving tomorrow, and then that's it, then?”

"I guess so. Try not to get your stupid self killed, if you can manage."

"Likewise. Please be careful, Draco"

Draco smiled. "I'm on the winning side. Well, the side that's winning so far, at least. To be honest, I'd be in a lot more danger if the good guys _did_ win." He was clenching his left hand again. "I'm not actually sure I do want your side to win. I'm too much of a coward." 

"You keep saying that, but it's just not true.” Draco was looking at him with a sceptical look on his face. 

Harry grabbed him by the shoulders. “Look at me, Draco. You are brave. You _are_ , because you're still you. Because he didn’t break you, despite everything. Because you're not really one of them.” It felt really important to convince Draco of that fact.  
"Yes, I'm not sure about that." He held out his arm Harry for Harry. "See? Death Eater. Not to mention I happen to be" - he grimaced - "the Dark Lord's most favoured."

"If you were, if this was really you, then why would you let me go?"

"Maybe I also have a mushy side. Stranger things have happened." Dawn had come. Sunlight was piercing through the curtains. "You should go back to your room, Harry."

"You're probably right. Draco, if by any chance this goes right, I'll be there for you, I swear."

"Don't. Just... Don't swear. Once you're back with your own side, you'll realise all this was a horrible mistake. And you'll be right." Draco got out of the bed and offered a hand to Harry. "Come on, get dressed. I'll get the door for you, it's tricky to open from this side."

They shared one last kiss before Harry left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely people who commented on the first part of this. This is the first time I’ve ever published a fic online, so it really meant something to me. Obviously, there’s still another chapter coming. Bear with me, this is a fic I’ve picked up after ten years of abandonment and it’s still growing.


	3. Chapter 3

And then it was morning, and someone was shaking him awake. Harry opened his eyes blearily. When he has made his way back up to his room, he had thought he'd never be able to get to sleep, but he had collapsed on his bed seconds after reaching it. And now, what felt like barely minutes after he'd fallen asleep, someone was waking him up again. The sun was barely fully up yet.

"God, what is it _now_?"

"Master Draco said to tell Master Harry right away! It's not Kobby's fault!" squeaked the house elf.

Draco. "Tell me what?"

"Master Draco is leaving early. He's leaving now."

"What, now?" Harry threw himself off the bed. Suddenly, he felt a bitter taste in the back of his throat, as though he was going to be sick. It was too early, surely?

Quickly, he put on the clothes he'd discarded the night before. He was trying to think as rapidly as possible. Draco's room was too far away, and there was a possibility he'd already left it anyway. Downstairs was a bad idea. Lucius was still here and he didn't take kindly to Harry wandering around when he hadn't been summoned. And there was the risk of Lucius somehow sensing this thing between him and his son. But he had to find some way to see Draco one last time. That only left his eyrie on the second floor gallery, from where he'd at least be able to see what was happening downstairs.

He ran through the corridor, barefoot, trying to make as little noise as possible, trailing a hand along the wall to negotiate the twists and turns of the servants' quarters more easily. That corridor, those stairs, had never felt so long before.

He had just settled into his hiding place behind the second story balustrade, breathing hard, when Draco came into view, striding into the hall. He looked visibly tense as he fastened a long black sable-lined cloak around his neck.

Behind him were two unfamiliar black-robed wizards, walking in short quick steps to keep up with him.

"I haven't even had breakfast yet," Draco complained. His voice echoed through the marble hall. He sounded furious.

"I'm very sorry. The Dark Lord said he wanted to see you right away," said one of the two Death Eaters.

Harry recognised the voice at once. Vincent Crabbe. He had always been part of Draco's gang at school. It seemed oddly logical that he'd be there now, acting as one of bodyguards. Unless they were something else, more like minders or keepers than protection? But there was a servile, cringing note in Crabbe's voice that seemed new. The other one was a thin older wizard Harry didn't recognise, with a cold, stern face. He also seeming to keep a respectful distance from Draco, head bowed.

"Yes, well, you could at least have given me five minutes to say goodbye to my mother." Draco's voice was cold and imperious. 

"I'm sorry, my Lord, our orders..." said the thin wizard in a wheedling voice.

Harry blinked. Lord. So now Death Eaters called Draco 'Lord'?

Again, he realised how little he actually knew about what being given to Voldemort entailed for Draco. All he knew was that for when Harry had for one second managed to force Draco to talk about it, after he had seen that huge, ugly mark on Draco's hip, Draco had, for one second, looked at the same time looked sad and unspeakably weary. And then he had rapidly retreated into himself, and they had argued. At the time, Harry had felt the argument had been his own fault, but now in hindsight, he wondered if Draco hadn't deliberately goaded him into it to avoid the conversation.

Suddenly Narcissa came into view, emerging from passage to ease wing, jolting Harry out of his train of thought. She was still in her white dressing gown, hair loose around her shoulder. Lucius was right behind her, looking sombre.

The thin Death Eater tried to get in front of her, stopping her from getting at Draco, but she shoved him brutally aside.

"No!" she snarled. "You don't keep me away from him!" She threw herself at Draco, flinging her arms around him. "Please, my dragon, don't go. Please stay with me. I'm begging you."

“My Lord, please, we really have to go, you know the Dark Lord doesn't like to wait,” said Crabbe anxiously.

"Yes, I know. I'm coming. Mother, let go of me, please." Draco was gently trying to push Narcissa's hands away from him, but she was gripping him hard, her hands like claws digging deep into his arms. "Father?" He looked at Lucius with a pleading expression.

Lucius took hold of Narcissa's wrists and lifted them easily off Draco. "Behave," he hissed menacingly. She fell silent immediately. From the way her shoulders were trembling, Harry guessed she was crying.

"Mother, I swear, I'll be back as soon as I can." Draco ran his thumb along Narcissa's cheek tenderly. She made a pathetic choking sound. "Father, I'll see you next week, I guess." 

Lucius nodded curtly, an arm around Narcissa, holding her tight to his side. "Go. Don't worry. Don't keep him waiting."

"No. I'm going. Goodbye." Draco hugged his father briefly.

In that second, for the briefest of moments, Draco looked up at Harry over Lucius's shoulder, finding him in the shadows above unerringly. That instant of contact, those grey eyes seeming somehow to be able to see right into his soul, felt like jolt of pure lightning running down his spine.

Then it was over, and Draco was stepping out through the door Crabbe was holding open deferentially for him. The two minders nodded at Lucius and Narcissa and left. Almost immediately, Harry heard the loud cracks of three thunderclaps close together - they must have Disapparated as soon as they were past the manor's warding spells.

Harry sat back, leaning against the cold stone wall. He had always known that he wouldn't get much of a chance to spend any time with Draco before he left, but this was so sudden it felt like something was ripped away from him, leaving a dull ache in his belly. At the very least, he had hoped to be able to see him in Narcissa's room before breakfast or lunch, perhaps find a way to whisper something to him or an excuse to touch his hand. Some small way to say goodbye to him.

But now it was over, Draco was gone, and all he could do was wait, again, wait in this prison of a place. Wait for the opportunity Draco had promised him. Wait in the dark, blindly, with no idea of what was waiting for him outside, or what was happening outside the manor's walls.

He burrowed his head between his arms. He was crying. He hardly ever cried anymore, but suddenly, the loneliness was raw and unbearable, like a great chasm opening under him.

* * *

The day had started badly and quickly devolved into hell. Narcissa, in one of her needy moods, had required Harry by her side almost immediately, and then had spent the afternoon pacing through her room, agitatedly muttering to herself, ignoring him completely. 

And then Lucius called for him. Today, of all days.

When Harry opened the door to the library, the curtains were drawn, keeping out the last rays of the afternoon sun. The only light in the room was the flickering flame of an oil lamp on the side table. At its foot was an empty decanter and a heavy looking crystal glass. 

Lucius was sprawled on the sofa, one arm hooked behind the high mahogany back. His waist-long hair was untied, obscuring most of his face. 

Harry walked into the room through the shadows, and stopped one step away from Lucius, at the edge of the light of the lamp. 

His heartbeat was loud in his ears. But he wouldn't show fear in front of Lucius, never. He tried to remind himself that Lucius, as unpleasant as he was, was easy to please. He'd want submission, he'd want sex, and Harry had learnt to be really good at giving him what he wanted. "You wanted to see me?" he said, looking straight at Lucius.

Lucius didn't answer, just looked at him through dark, half-lidded eyes. Even from where Harry was standing, he reeked of firewhiskey. Harry felt a noose of fear tighten around his throat. In all the time Harry had been at the Malfoys, he had never once seen Lucius drunk. It seemed very unlike him. Lucius was always in control of himself. Even in his worst moments, Lucius never let himself get entirely blinded by rage or lust. There was always this slightly mocking gleam in his eyes, telling Harry he knew exactly what he was doing.

To see him like this, unfocused, with this absolutely unguarded feral look, was terrifying.

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. "What do you...," he started, and Lucius pounced, uncoiling in one smooth gesture, quick as a snake, grabbing Harry by the throat.

“If you speak again, if you say a single word, if you even try to resist me, I will hurt you so badly that no one will ever be able to fix you," he hissed. "The only thing my Master has asked of me is to keep you alive. That gives me an awful lot of leeway. Do you understand me?" His fingers were digging into Harry's windpipe painfully.

Harry nodded as fast as he could, but Lucius’s fingers clenched even harder, cutting off all air, and Harry heard himself make a helpless choked sound. Lucius held his eyes for an excruciatingly long time, so long that Harry started panicking, his hand scrabbling at Lucius’s vice-like grip.

After an eternity, he let go of him. Harry fell to his knees, choking, lungs burning as he gasped for breath. Then Lucius's hand was in his hair, pulling him up harshly to his feet. The pain made stars dance in front of Harry's eyes, so sharp he couldn't even resist when he felt Lucius press a phial to his lips, forcing a thick, bitter potion between his teeth. 

_Oh God no. Anything but that. God, you bastard, anything but that._

Lucius's hand was trembling as he forced Harry to swallow the polyjuice to the last dregs.

Harry felt his skin crawl and bubble. He pushed Lucius away and fell to his knees, desperately trying to fight it, to stop it, but he was utterly powerless. Already, his hands were lengthening, fingers taking on a slim, tapered shape, his body tightening, hips narrowing with an almost audible crack. His skin burned for a second as it lightened to fairest blonde. Harry stared stupidly at his hands - Draco's hands. 

Lucius was looking at him in wonder, eyes suddenly soft. "Draco..." he breathed. "My Draco."

And then Lucius was gathering him up in his arms, cradling him to his chest, gently, as though he was afraid of hurting him. He carried Harry to the couch and put him down carefully, and just as carefully started stripping him naked.

Harry had expected to read desire, want, in Lucius, had steeled himself against it, but he wasn’t ready for the sheer awe plain in his expression, or that Lucius would contemplate his body - Draco’s body - with such quasi-religious reverence. He wasn’t ready for the gentleness with which Lucius stroked his face, the fingers that a few minutes before had been clenched around his throat now soft and careful as they traced the line of Draco’s jaw, of his cheekbones. He had never imagined Lucius could smile this way, warm and tender.

Harry tried to do what he always did with Lucius, retreat to that place within himself where he didn’t feel anything, where he could watch what was happening to him with almost clinical detachment, as though it was happening to someone else. But being in Draco’s body somehow made it impossible. The sensations were too unfamiliar, too strange. This was fundamentally different from the other times he'd taken polyjuice. Before, it had just felt deeply uncomfortable, as he had tried as hard as possible to ignore the embarrassing physicality of it. But this was _Draco_ 's body, and he was finding it hard to ignore that fact, to ignore that these were Draco's legs stretched out in front of him, Draco's cock lying flaccid between his thighs. It felt like a terrible invasion of privacy, knowing what it feels to be in that body, and at the same time there was a deep sensuality to it - just closing his hands and feeling the texture of Draco’s skin, so different from his own, felt almost like a caress. 

He breathed out slowly. He had no intention of letting himself get even slightly aroused by this, by Lucius's hands on him, by Lucius's soft, almost chaste kisses, but the rush of unfamiliar sensations was confusing him, making it impossible to think.

Harry’s body had never responded that way. Draco’s skin was so sensitive, so reactive. When Lucius bit down lightly on his neck, running his tongue along the vein beating there, it was as though a line of fire connected it directly to his groin, making his - Draco’s - cock twitch. And there was no way to mute that feeling or get away from it. When Lucius’s mouth moved down, kissing the jutting angle of his collarbone, then drifting to his chest before latching onto his nipple, teasing it softly with gentle bites, Harry couldn’t stop himself from making a helpless, keening sound, when he had always made so sure never to let any sound of pleasure escape his lips when he was with Lucius. 

It was like being betrayed by his own body - except that it wasn’t his body, and every touch, every feeling reminded him of that fact. He was rock hard, cock leaking onto the skin of his belly, and for what? Or rather, for whom?

For Lucius.

Lucius, who kept kissing his way down his son’s body with the same obsessive devotion, until finally he took the tip of Draco’s cock in his mouth and it was so good Harry thought he would weep from the unfairness of it. He tried to resist, he really did, but Lucius was obscenely skilled at this, his tongue snaking around the tip in a rasping, caressing way, his long blond hair pooling at Harry’s side cold and soft like silk. Still, he didn’t expect his orgasm, when it came, to hit him so very hard, like a punch, making his vision go dark.

Then Lucius was flipping him over, and his fingers were in him, cold and slick, stretching him open. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to relax - Lucius was easily one of the biggest men Harry had ever had sex with, and in the first days, before he had taught himself not to fight it, it had hurt like hell -, but the utterly alien feeling of dealing with someone else's body was throwing him off completely, and he was tense, much too tense for this, clenching helplessly around Lucius's fingers.

But Lucius was being gentle as he had never been before, giving him time to adjust. It still felt as though he was being split in two when Lucius entered him, and he threw his head back, arching his back, futilely pushing away at Lucius, thighs trembling with the strain of it. 

Harry was so used to Lucius that he was already bracing himself for his usual pounding, hard relentless strokes. It took him a while to notice Lucius’s hands, gentle and soothing on his hips, the whispered, reassuring endearments so obviously not meant for him - because since when had Lucius given a single fuck about Harry - promises of love, everlasting, promises to protect him - to protect Draco - and that burned worse than the pain, because Lucius wasn't allowed to say that, after what he had done. 

Lucius started moving, rocking into him, slowly. Only one thought was clear, cold and implacable in Harry's mind.

_I will kill him for this. If it's the last thing I do, I will kill him with my own hands._

He held on to that thought as Lucius's thrusts intensified, as Lucius collapsed on top of him, panting. Lucius's face was wet with tears.

_Oh no. You don't get to cry, you bastard. It's your fault._

He slid out from under Lucius and pushed him away. He didn't care anymore. He didn't think Lucius could do anything to him that could be worse than this. 

"How could you?" he asked.

Lucius was avoiding his eyes. "I'm protecting him," he said simply. 

"You are destroying him. He loves you so damn much, and you... You are going to destroy him." Lucius's stayed silent. He looked deeply, nakedly ashamed. 

Harry stared at Lucius pitilessly, stared at him through Draco's eyes, as he gathered his clothes about him and left without a word.

* * *

Then it was back to waiting again. Back to endless days merging into each other in an indistinct blur of boredom and anxiety. He counted the days, watched the moon wane slowly. He knew the time was coming. He just hoped he'd knew what to do when it was finally there. Any plan, any strategy he had tried to come up with was dependent on too many factors he had no control over.

He was back in his room after yet another afternoon spent watching Narcissa’s mind slowly unravel when there was a furtive scratch at his door. 

It was Kobby. His long ears were laying back flat on his head. He looked deeply unhappy.

"Is Kobby, Master Harry. Master Draco wanted Kobby to remind you. It is being the new moon tonight."

Harry knew. But still, hearing it from Kobby made his heart stop for a second. This was it, then. 

"Master Lucius is not home tonight. Master Draco said to tell you he would make sure of that." Harry felt a sudden, almost painful rush of deep gratitude. 

The house elf was fidgeting nervously, ears twitching. "Is Master Harry leaving?" he whispered sadly. His huge eyes shone with moisture. Harry tried to think of something to say.

"It is right if Master Harry leaves. This is not a good place. But Kobby..."

"I can't take you with me, Kobby."

"No. Kobby belongs to this house." The house elf was shaking his head. "But Kobby wishes..." he whispered guiltily.

"I know, Kobby. I'll try to help you if I can." He smiled. "For some reason, it seems to be my thing, stealing house-elves away from the Malfoys. There was this elf called Dobby. I made Lucius set him free, you know." God, he hoped Dobby was still alive somewhere.

"Dobby the bad elf. Kobby know. The others talk about him sometimes. But maybe Dobby was not bad. Maybe sometimes Masters can be bad."

"Of course they can, Kobby." Harry stopped suddenly.

Something had changed. The air around him felt fresh and cold, making the hairs on his arms stand up. Something had lifted from him, as though he'd been under a great weight and hadn't realised it, as though heavy chains that had been clinging to him and holding him to the ground had suddenly slipped away. He felt almost weightless. "I have to go," he told the house elf.

The wards had snapped.

Harry didn't know how long he'd have it or how much time it would take the master of the house to realise what had happened. And it would terribly easy to stop Harry. The manor was built like a fortress. He didn't have many choices - he'd have to make his exit from the front door, which would make him desperately vulnerable. Trying not to think, he ran down the stairs, as fast as he possibly could. The hall was shrouded in shadows. The door was there, in front of him. Only a few feet separated him from freedom.

And then a white shape emerged from the shadows. Narcissa. She was blocking his only way out.

"No." Her voice was trembling, but the tip of her wand wasn't. "You are not going."

Harry felt numb all over. He had only one chance at this. He tried to think. “You have to let me go.”

“No! Never. You are not allowed.” 

There was only one thing he could think of that might sway her, only one card to play. “Draco. You have to let me go, Narcissa. Because of him. He needs my help.”

She looked at him suspiciously. "You can't give me my Draco back."

"Maybe I can. I want to help him." Harry held out his hands, trying to make himself look as earnest as possible. "Please, Narcissa, I will do all I can to bring him back to you."

"I want him back." She sounded deeply troubled. That was a hopeful sign. "But it's too late."

"No. It's not too late. I promise."

"Will you make him safe? Lucius said this would make Draco safe forever. But I don't know. I don't know. Our Lord, he..."

"Narcissa, you know you can't trust Voldemort."

"Don't say his name! Please, don't say his name." She shuddered. "He's... a great man, but... he's not kind. I worry."

She was very close to Harry, her eyes huge with panic.

“You promise, you swear you'll help my Draco, Harry? Do you swear?”

“Yes. I swear.”

“You'll bring him back to me?”

Somehow Harry found it hard to lie in front of the earnestness of her distress, no matter how insane she might be. 

“I'll try. I'll do my best.”

“I'll wait for him. If I don't have him back, I will die, I know it. You have to bring him back.”

“I'll try,” Harry repeated.

That seemed to be enough for Narcissa. Suddenly her eyes snapped into focus. 

“Then I'll help you.” 

With sudden resolve, she cast a simple Accio spell and stretched out her hand. A large wooden box landed square on her palm. There was a sculpture of a snake, made of some sort of brass-like metal, knotted around the box, keeping it closed. Narcissa touched the signet ring in her left hand to the snake. It started moving slowly, slithering once or twice around the box before coiling itself tightly on top of the box. 

“Go on, take it. You'll need it.”

With unsteady hands, Harry opened the box. He already knew what he would find in there. His wand.

“I knew where Lucius kept it. The Dark Lord didn't want it destroyed.”

Harry gingerly closed his fingers around the wand. He thought he would cry at the familiar feel of it in his hand, at the weight of it. Raw power seemed to crackle along his arm, wild and uncontrollable for a second. It was as if a whole sense was suddenly restored to him.

As he picked it up, his fingers scrabbled against something else - his glasses. Lucius hadn't wanted him to wear them, and had fixed his eyes. But somehow Harry when picking them up felt like himself, felt like Harry Potter for the first time more than a year. It felt like he had regained a part of his identity that had been denied him. He slipped the glasses in his back pocket.

"You have to find Draco, and bring him back to me. Swear again you'll help him.”

"I swear."

Narcissa stepped to the side. “Now you have to go. Quickly…”

The entire exchange between them had not taken more than a couple of minutes. On impulse, Harry took Narcissa's cold bony hand in his. "Be careful." 

She nodded, looking faintly bemused. She didn't understand what he meant, but there was no time. He ran past Narcissa, pushing the doors open. They were unlocked.

Quickly, he ran down the stairs stone stairs leading to the gravel drive, and headed to the right. He'd had ample time to study the geography of the manor's grounds, or at least what he could see of it, and he knew the first thicket of trees was barely a hundred feet away from the house. Despite the absence of moonlight, he felt horribly exposed. 

He had barely reached the treeline when he heard a woman scream behind him. He turned for a second to look back at the house, just in time to catch a green flash illuminating the house from the inside, quick as lightning. The scream cut off abruptly.

Fear seemed to paralyse him for a moment, rendering his legs useless. Then finally he regained control of them, and started running as fast as possible through woods, slamming into trees in the darkness, desperately trying to keep aiming for the edge of the estate.

When he reached the outer reach of the grounds, the wards were still down, but there was a stone wall surrounding the estate, at least ten feet high. Harry tried to think of a suitable spell, and settled on Defodio, a gouging spell that he usually found fairly easy to control. But as soon as he had cast it, he knew something was deeply wrong. The spell exploded in front of him like a bomb, blowing up not only the wall but a great swathe of earth, leaving behind it a huge trench, fanning out from where he stood until it reached a width of at least a hundred feet. In the centre, where the wall had been, a few rocks were glowing, incandescent.

Harry gaped at the destruction, stunned. Was this a consequence of his magic being locked up within himself for all that time? Whatever the reason, it meant he couldn't trust any spell for now. He'd have to make his way on foot and without magic.

He ran through the torn-up ground. The woods went on past the walls, getting if anything thicker as he left the manor grounds behind. The only light in the sky were the stars, too faint to help him in any way. He didn't dare try even a simple Lumos spell. Not only would it make him instantly visible to anyone who might be pursuing him, there was a strong possibility that it might go horribly wrong and explode in his face. 

The ground beneath his feet turned to asphalt. He had reached a road - a muggle road. Chances were it would lead him out of this forest. And at least, it gave him a direction to follow, lead him away from here. Gritting his teeth, he set out on the road.

* * *

Harry had been walking for several hours when finally the sky began to lighten. His legs felt terribly heavy. His feet were hurting. It had been a really long time since he'd walked through more than a few rooms. But despite the weariness, the simple fact of being outside, of hearing the sounds of night and woods felt so good after his long captivity that he actually felt vaguely hopeful. 

In the bleak pre-dawn light, he saw he had reached the end of the forest. He was on a hill. In front of him, he could see more roads, a motorway, and what looked like a few villages. There wasn't a single light, no sign of electricity. On the motorway, he could make out the shape of a truck, broken down on its side, surrounded by the carcasses of cars. Nothing was moving.

He had to get his bearings somehow. He peered at a sign by the road. It told him very little, apart from the fact he was still in Wiltshire and that the motorway he was seeing was the M4, apparently. He was fairly close to some village called Totford.

On impulse, he decided to make for the muggle village. It was really the only option he could think of. He made his way slowly down the road. His blistered feet were hurting quite badly now. He knew he would have to stop soon.

He reached Totford after a couple of hours. The sun was up, making everything look incongruously cheerful. Totford was - or had been - a charming little residential village, with lovingly restored rustic cottages, each flanked by expensive luxury cars. But now it looked run down and desolate. It looked deserted, but Harry felt sure he had seen a few curtains twitch in the windows as he walked past dark houses.

He reached the centre of the village. There was a pub. A single light was burning in the window. As he drew closer, it blinked out of existence, as though hastily extinguished. 

Harry walked up to the door. "Come on. I know there's someone here. I need help," he said.

Voices were whispering on the other side of the door. "Look at how he's dressed! He's one of them!" said a high, female voice.

"If he is, the best thing is to do what he says, isn't it?" said a second voice.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone," said Harry. "I just need to know where I am."

"How do we know we can trust you?" asked the female voice.

Harry sighed. He pulled out his wand, and someone inside started screaming. "No. Look. I'm putting it on the ground, all right? I'm unarmed." He raised his empty hands.

The door opened a fraction. A small group of people stood huddled on the other side. They looked terrified.

"Listen," said Harry, trying to look as harmless as he could. "I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just need some information." He swallowed. "My name is Harry Potter. I'm on your side."

A small, white-haired man with a wispy beard pushed himself forward through the group. "Harry Potter?" he said suspiciously. He peered at Harry's forehead.

"Yes. Do you know who I am?" asked Harry, pushing back his hair to let him see the scar.

"Yes." The old man smiled. "I do." He grabbed Harry's hand and shook it. "Arnulf Wyllt, squib. Lived here all my life."

He turned towards the small group. "Do you know who this is? This here is the only chance we have against the Dark Lord. This is the Boy-who-lived."

A hushed silence fell. "I've been telling them about you," said Wyllt. "I've tried to teach them as much as I could about wizards since You-know-who took charge. Come in."

They sat Harry down at a large wooden table. One of the women lit the light, a small petroleum lamp.

"What do you need from us?" said Wyllt, stern and business-like.

"I've just managed to escape from Malfoy manor." One of the women cringed visibly at the name. "I need to get to London, I think. I need to find my friends. There's... a resistance, or something, isn't there?"

Wyllt looked at him appraisingly. "You do realise what you're asking here? Even if you are who you say you are, how do we know we can trust you?"

"Please. I don't really have a choice. I've been kept prisoner, I don't know anything about what happened out here." He sighed. "Listen, I'm in more danger than you. The Death Eaters must be looking for me. I'm basically at your mercy here. But if you do know something... Please, for the love of all that's holy, tell me."

"I have a sister," said Wyllt, taking a deep breath. "She's a witch. She used to work as an Auror. If there is a resistance, I'm sure she's part of it. But here's the thing... I'm not even sure she's still alive. I haven't dared to contact her."

"Contact her?" 

"We have this family heirloom that we have always used to keep in touch." Wyllt pulled out a heavy-looking pendant, a lentil shaped disc of pure silver. "But the last thing she told me, last year, was not to use it. She said those kinds of devices were probably unsafe these days." He shrugged. "But this qualifies as an emergency, I'd say."

* * *

The sun was getting high in the morning sky when Cordelia Wyllt Apparated on the village green. She looked about sixty, a no-nonsense woman with short grey hair. She hugged Wyllt briefly. "Nulfie! Good to see you." She glanced at Harry. "I don't need to ask you who you are. I'm sorry, but we really don't have time to exchange pleasantries." Harry nodded.

"We need to evacuate quickly. It's very possible all magical communications are monitored. This type of two way device isn't very secure. Mister Potter, you're going with my squad." Two young women and a young men Apparated next to her, wands at the ready. They had the unmistakable hard look of soldiers. "The rest of you will come with me."

"What? We're not going anywhere!," said the squeaky voiced woman. She was called Emily something, Harry had learnt.

"This place is compromised now. Chances are Death Eaters are on their way to burn it to the ground. We're taking you somewhere safe. Potter, you have to go immediately."

Two of the soldiers stood by his side. The third one, a woman about five years older than Harry, pulled out what look very much like a key ring. A variety of small, random objects was hanging from it. “Portkeys,” she said curtly. Harry nodded. She held out one to Harry. “It’s code-activated. The code is ‘Basilisk’.”

“Basilisk,” he repeated. The world instantly blurred, stretched like taffy. He landed, hard, in a heather-filled hollow in what looked like a moor. The three soldiers landed behind him a few seconds later. Stern looking wizards were waiting for them on a hill. “Harry Potter?” said one of them, before inspecting him with his wand, then nodding. “Fine. Proceed to the next checkpoint. Portkey seven, code word ‘Daisy’.”

“Understood,” said the woman. She showed him another Portkey. “It’s ‘Daisy’, this time.”

They went through four or five checkpoints. Harry lost count after a while. Sometimes they’d leave just after arriving, the way they had the first time, and sometimes it seemed to take much longer. It was long and confusing. They seemed to be jumping around a lot - sometimes they’d be near the sea, sometimes in a forest, once in the ruins of a city - Coventry, he was told. It seemed to take them until late in the afternoon. Harry was starting to feel unsteady on his feet. He hadn’t slept since the previous day.

Finally, after one last endless check, the squad leader smiled at him. “You’re clear. We’re going to the main camp now.” She held out one final Portkey.

* * *

It was nothing like he’d expected. He’d imagined a jumble of tents of all kinds, like the wizarding campsite at the Quidditch world cup, somehow cosy and friendly. This was rows and rows of identical tents in perfect rows. Each was numbered. It reminded Harry of images he'd seen of military camps.

The squad leader took him quickly through the tents. People were milling about busily. To his surprise, he saw a group of muggle soldiers, holding guns, led by a wizard. They looked very out of place in their combat fatigues.

Most wizards were wearing the same kind of robes Cordelia Wyllt and her team wore, which must have been some sort of uniform. Some were dressed differently. He passed a small group in grey camouflage, whose voices sounded distinctly American. 

He felt too weary now to register much as he was passed from group to group, until finally, he was led to a larger tent in the middle of the encampment, and there, in front of him, rising from a battered armchair that wouldn’t have looked out of place in his study at Hogwarts, was Albus Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry had never felt happier to see the old man in his life. Dumbledore hugged him.

“Harry, my boy. When they told me you had escaped, I couldn’t believe it at first.” To Harry’s embarrassment, the wizard’s eyes were shining with tears. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Me too, professor.”

Next to Dumbledore was Rufus Scrimgeour, who had been Minister of Magic at the time of Voldemort’s coup. He was looking at Harry with something like awe. “He’s really here. This changes everything. We have to adjust our plans.

"The boy's exhausted, you can see that. He needs to rest. We'll discuss how to integrate him into our strategy tomorrow."

"Albus, do we have time for this?"

"No, but I don't think there's a lot Harry can do for us right now. Will someone please escort him to Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley's tent, please? I'm certain they'll be willing to put him up for the night."

Harry tried to protest, but Dumbledore's voice seemed to be coming from far away, and he felt on the verge of falling backwards. He let the old man guide him gently to the door.

It turned out no one needed to escort him. The news of his presence had spread around the camp like wildfire, and there was a large group of people waiting for him. And there, in front of everyone else, were Ron and Hermione.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, God, Harry, it is you." Harry staggered back a few steps.

"Come on, 'mione, let the man breathe," said Ron. His eyes were full of tears. Hermione let go of Harry, and Ron hugged him, hard.

"We heard," he said, voice rough with emotion. "You have no idea how happy I am."

"I think I can guess," smiled Harry. "It's so good to see you two." Ron and Hermione both looked different, older somehow. Ron looked like he'd been out in the sun, his face a mass of freckles and sunburn, and Hermione's hair was tied back in a simple knot, which made her look more severe than he'd ever seen her. Both were wearing simple brown wizard's robes, with unfamiliar insignia. They too looked like soldiers, sober and capable, despite the tears Hermione was brushing away, despite Ron's familiar crooked grin. It was a bitter thought, thinking about them fighting while he was locked away.

"How ever did you manage to get away?" asked Ron, punching Harry in the arm affectionately. The hit made Harry reel back.

"Questions tomorrow, mister Weasley. I think Harry needs to rest right now," said Dumbledore, laying a steadying hand on Harry.

"Oh, yeah, sure." Ron put a protective arm around Harry. "Come on, people, let us through."

Harry let himself be led through the throng. Faces, familiar and not, seemed to flash before him, as dozens of people grabbed his hand to shake it. The tension was leaving him, and in its place, a terrible weariness was seeping through his entire body. He felt suddenly too tired to take another step.

"This is us," said Ron, stopping in front of one of the tents. Harry followed him gratefully inside. Outside, he could hear Hermione telling people that he needed his rest, that he'd talk to them tomorrow. 

Harry turned to Ron, who was lighting a lamp in the middle of the dining area. The tent was spacious, as was usual with wizards, but sparsely furnished, almost Spartan. "Why do they all want to see me?"

"I don't think Dumbledore wants us to discuss this tonight, Harry..."

"Ron, please, just... Tell me, alright?"

"It's because it's _you_. We need you. We've been trying to get you back for so long..."

Hermione walked into the tent, fastening the opening. "Ron. This isn't the time."

"He wants to know. I think he should be allowed to know." Ron sank into one of the kitchen chairs and glared at Hermione. "It's not fair."

"They'll explain tomorrow, Ron. He needs to sleep."

"Could you two stop talking about me as if I'm not there, please? Hermione. Please."

She sighed. "Fine. I'll explain, and then you're going straight to bed, is that clear? We're on the verge of launching a huge counteroffensive. But we all knew we couldn't win, not completely. You see, the theory is no one can kill Voldemort. No one but you, Harry."

Harry felt his heart sink. "I... It's what I was afraid of. I kind of guessed. That's why he couldn't just have me killed, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "So now you know. Do you want something to eat before you go to bed?"

"Nah. Too tired."

Ron stood up. "Come on. I'll show you where you'll sleep. This is a two bedroom tent, but we only use the one, really."

Harry grinned. That, at least, was excellent news. "Something you want to tell me, Ron?"

"Don't know what to say, man." Ron grinned crookedly. "It's war, you know." 

Harry heard Hermione clear her throat behind him. She was fiddling with the kettle, the back of her ears flushed a deep pink. "Perhaps this could also wait until tomorrow?" 

"No, I think I get the picture. Good. I'm really glad."

Harry followed Ron into the spare bedroom. It was simply furnished, with a wide double camp bed, and a trunk for clothes. One of the corners had a closed-off section, with a simple but functional bathroom.

"Sorry, it's not hugely comfortable. It's your basic standard issue military tent. Everybody more or less gets the same," said Ron apologetically.

"It's beautiful." Harry threw himself on the bed, which gave way deliciously. "It's the best room I’ve ever seen." He yawned hugely.

"See you tomorrow, Harry." Harry muttered something indistinct in response and let himself sink into sleep, not even bothering to take off his clothes.

* * *

“Did you know know where I was?” asked Harry over breakfast the following morning.

“We knew.” Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. “But Malfoy Manor is probably the most secure place in England, now that Hogwarts…”

“Hogwarts is gone?”

“Not completely,” said Hermione grimly. “There's still some parts left. We'll rebuild it when we win.”

“Yeah, don't talk to 'mione about that, she's still upset about the library burning to the ground.”

“But yes, we knew where you were, and believe me, we tried to find a way to get to you, but…”

Ron leaned forward, both elbows on the table. “So, Harry, how did you manage it? I mean, we've had people working on breaking those wards for months,” he asked, picking up a piece of bread.

Harry took a deep breath. "Draco. He got me out. And his mother helped in the end. I think she might be dead because of me."

Ron choked on his toast. "Draco Malfoy?" he said, coughing out crumbs. Hermione tapped him gently on the back, then looked at Harry. Concern was plain in her face.

"That's… very hard to believe," she said gently. "Harry, please, tell me the Aurors that came for you did check that there were no tracking spells on you."

"Of course they did, what do you think? They said they couldn't let me in the camp otherwise."

"Then I really don't understand..."

"Draco broke the wards. I think he was able to because he was the one who set up most of them in the first place. I ran. I don't see what's so hard to understand."

"I just don’t see why Draco Malfoy, of all people, would do this."

"Yeah," Ron added, "Of all people... Draco is You-know-who's right hand man, you do know that? His _husband_ or something. He's basically the second most powerful person in England."

"It's not like that. I mean, this is probably what it looks like from the outside, but..." Harry struggled to find words that would help them understand. "None of this was his idea. And he hates it."

"Harry,” said Hermione calmly, “a few months back, Voldemort presented Draco Malfoy as his consort in a very public ceremony, and as far as anyone knows he is perfectly fine with it."

"Ambitious little snake," hissed Ron. "Preening about at Voldie's side. He's exactly where he wants to be."

"He's not. He really isn't. He's scared and alone and he's doing this because his inhuman bastard of a father forced him to." Harry stared at his hands. "I really need to talk to someone about this. Who's in charge?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, as a matter of fact, no one is, precisely. This is a coalition. But you'll get to talk to Dumbledore later this morning, at the strategy meeting."

Ron frowned. "Our side consider both Malfoy men to be major targets. We have a kill on sight order on them. I'm not sure anything you say will change that."

The absolute certainty on Ron’s face was oddly irritating. “Oh, really? Fine. If that’s how it’s going to be, then I won’t cooperate until I get assurances Draco won’t be harmed.” 

“Harry, for heaven’s sake, why?” asked Hermione.

Harry took a deep breath. “I... He and I are.. It's complicated. We have a relationship.” He felt he was stretching the truth there. Could the handful of furtive encounters they'd shared really be called a relationship? Could it even be called anything? But Draco had helped him. That was at least, was true.

“Hermione, what did he mean, relationship?” squeaked Ron, turning to Hermione. “Please, please tell me he doesn't mean he and _Draco Malfoy_...?”

Hermione had a stricken expression on her face. 

“So what?" said Harry defensively. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't even know him.”

“I don't know him? He's Draco fucking Malfoy! He spent seven years making our lives miserable at school! He's a Death Eater, he's Voldemort's favourite person, and I'm pretty sure he didn't become that by being nice. I know what this is. This is that thing ‘mione was telling me about, isn’t it? - that Moscow syndrome -”

“Stockholm syndrome, Ron.” Hermione looked deeply worried.

“Whatever, that thing people get for their jailers after a while. If he did help you, it was for his own reasons, believe me.”

“What possible reason could he have? He betrayed his own father for me.”

“Harry, obviously I don't know what happened between you two, but this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. He's never liked you,” said Hermione, quietly and logically.

“We're not eleven anymore, Hermione.” But it was true, of course it was. “And he did help me. The fact I’m here is proof of that.”

“Hmm, yes, but - Harry, please don't get mad, this is just a possibility - what if he was just hedging his bets? I mean, maybe he knows more than he let on. Maybe he thinks we actually have a pretty decent chance.”

“Wouldn't put it past him. Sneaky Slytherin bastard,” added Ron.

“I'm just trying to think of all the possibilities, Harry. The fact is that if he wanted to get you out of there, he could have done so much earlier, couldn't he? He didn't seem to mind you being kept as a... Well, kept prisoner in his house for months. And then, just as we finally manage to regroup, at the exact time we actually get together a force strong enough to launch a counterattack, he lets you go?”

“That's not why he did it. It's because he hates it. He hates belonging to Voldemort, he hates what he makes him do.”

“Yes, but he’s still doing it, isn’t he?” interjected Ron. “And he's basically prince consort of this new order. He's royalty, Harry, and all the information we have indicate he seems well pleased about it.”

Harry fists clenched at his side. "You don't know that. He pretends. It's all because of his fucking father. Draco would do anything for him.”

“God, Harry, how can you be that stupid?” Ron exploded. “What are you, in love with the son of a bitch?”

“I don't know. Maybe. And what if I am?”

“Because what? Because he let you shag him? Harry, he lets _Voldemort_ shag him.”

“Ron, stop it. It's just... Harry, try to see it from our point of view. It’s just really hard to believe.”

“Well, try. Try believing me, for a change. I’m not an idiot, Ron. I know what I’m doing.”

“Fine. Fine, so now we have to make it so nobody hurts your precious Draco. Do you have any idea how complicated this is going to make everything?” said Ron, throwing his hand in the air.

“I’m asking you to spare one life.” Harry was fighting to stay calm. “How is this a problem? Aren’t you supposed to be the good ones?”

“It’s war, harry! Do you know the losses we’ve suffered? It’s a war, and we don’t need you complicating everything now.”

“Oh, but yes, you do. You do need me, don’t you?” Harry smiled humourlessly. 

Ron looked at him, then without another word, walked out of the tent.

“Harry…”

“What now, Hermione?”

“Listen, don’t worry about Ron. He’s just… under a lot of pressure. You know, he’s leading one of the assault squads tomorrow. He’s worried about it.”

"He’s worried? How do you think I feel? Draco's risking his life for me. The least I can do is try to make sure our side won't kill him."

"Harry, I'm trying to see this from your point of view, I really am. But it's just really hard to reconcile this with what we know of Draco Malfoy. We have... Well, we have inside information, you see. "

"How?"

"Severus Snape. He's on our side. You know that."

"You trust Snape over me, then?" It was really easy to let himself flood with anger. It was so much easier than actually thinking about what Hermione and Ron were saying. That it all made a horrible kind of sense.

"I trust Severus. Of course I do. You have no idea how much he's helped us, Harry. It doesn't mean I don't trust you." She hesitated. "But what he told us... Draco is a killer, Harry. He executed at least one of us."

"I know. He told me. He had to. He's scared, Hermione, he's terrified."

"I'm sure that's what he told you, yes, but..."

"You don't understand. He's so good at hiding how he feels, you have no idea. Snape is wrong about him."

Hermione was biting her lower lip. "Yes, but the thing is, Harry, if he's that good at pretending, if he's that good an actor, then why are you so sure you can trust him?"

Harry took one long look at Hermione. He had no answer to that. 

"I just know," he said.  
Hermione sighed. "I hope you're right about this," she said, before pouring herself another cup of tea.

_So do I_ , thought Harry. But the truth of it was he'd never felt less sure of anything in his life.


End file.
